


The Doorway

by Nicolaruth27



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, F/F, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-05-30 18:36:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 55,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6435772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicolaruth27/pseuds/Nicolaruth27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rizzles AU. When Jane Rizzoli accidentally discovers a mysterious doorway, she gets the chance to live out her biggest dream. But some dreams can become nightmares if you’re not too careful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Come home with me,” Maura says.

Just says it like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t make Jane’s heart beat double time for a full five minutes. Says it like there aren’t three other people sitting with them in their booth with faces that say they’ve read more into Maura’s words than she knows were intended.

Ulterior motives, subterfuge, deception. These are all things _she_ is capable of, but not Maura. The woman says what she means. And unless Maura ever actually says the words ‘come to bed with me’, then any continuation of their evening spent in the Dirty Robber will amount to what it always has; a shared bottle of wine back in Beacon Hill, some very mixed up feelings, and a sleepless night in the guest room.

It’s a request as innocent as the doctor herself. And she can’t do it. And she can’t kick herself in the ass for declining either, but it doesn’t stop her from wanting to do that, too.

“No, thanks. I just wanna get some sleep,” she smiles as she stands, adds a firm “in my own bed” when Maura looks like she might say something else.

Looking away from pleading hazel eyes helps a great deal with her flimsy convictions. What Maura lacks in artifice she makes up for with perfect powers of persuasion, and Jane dodges _that_ bullet by busying herself with goodbyes to the rest of the group.

Only as she’s leaving does she make the mistake of meeting that knee-weakening gaze.

“Call me later?” Maura mouths with a face so hopeful, so full of love and concern that she almost wilts.

A hug wouldn’t hurt, right? She would take a hug, even right here in front of the guys. Needs one if she’s honest, after the day she’s had. But something about the way she’s been feeling lately has made her more standoffish than usual, and of course Maura has noticed.

She just has to have some self-control. Not just have it but keep it, too. Wrapping her long arms around _that_ body might lead to holding on, or squeezing, which could lead to pressing their bodies together… And as much as she wants that, she really doesn’t want that. Not with undisclosed feelings in the mix.

And she definitely doesn’t want to march back to the table, pull Maura to her feet and kiss her senseless. She doesn’t want that at all as she ducks her head, steps through the doorway and out into the night, swallows down a little lump of regret.

That thought, and many more like it, have never crossed her mind.

* * *

Her car is parked around the corner. It’s not far but it is raining pretty heavily and so she hustles, boots splashing on the sidewalk as she digs for the keys in her jacket pocket.

She’s not more than ten feet away, fifteen at the most, when she spots a hooded figure huddled low next to the passenger door.

Shrouded in darkness thanks to a busted light overhead, Jane curses the street department under her breath, decides she’ll park elsewhere in future. “Hey. Can I help you?” she asks, feet still moving, eyelashes fluttering away clinging raindrops.

The stranger’s face snaps around to her for half a second before he takes off running. In a heartbeat, she’s sprinting in pursuit, noting as she passes the tool jammed into her door lock, its metal glinting in the moonlight.

“Son of a -” she gasps as long legs pump furiously.

For several exhausting minutes she follows, but try as she might she can’t close the distance. Her heeled boots are no match for sneakers on wet concrete, and, though it pains her to admit, even her trim, gym-trained form is no match at forty years old and after a very long day for a lean-muscled eighteen-year old.

Rounding another corner into an even darker alleyway, she thinks she hears the metallic ting of feet on a fire escape but, as she skids to a stop atop glistening cobblestones, the would-be car thief is nowhere to be seen.

Five seconds pass as her eyes frantically search left and right, up and down the buildings on each flank while her body twists and spins. Nothing.

“Shit!”

It’s not a dead end by any means. She can see for another fifty meters or so before the dark hulk of commercial trashcans and piles of trash bags obstruct her view. And for long seconds she peers intently, left hand on the service weapon strapped to her belt, willing her panting breaths to be silent and even.

But nothing moves.

Nothing but the twinkling reflections of Boston at night in the pools and puddles that dot the ground, their surfaces rippled by the continually falling rain.

Her sigh is heavy as she uses both hands to wipe wetness from reddened cheeks, pushes back the wild frizz of the once-sleek curls that now frame her face.

The lights always seem extra bright at this time of year, as fall creeps towards the holidays amidst plentiful showers and inky skies. But there’s something odd about the glow that emanates from one of the rear service doors up ahead. A speck of ice white in the shiny blackness.

Of course she wants to investigate, would really love to know how her suspect managed to disappear into thin air. And so her feet are already moving of their own volition.

She should call it in. Ask for assistance. Assistance that she really shouldn’t need when it’s just her versus one lousy kid for Pete’s sake. She _could_ call it in, but then she’d have to admit to already having lost him and drag some poor unfortunate uniforms out here for something that really doesn’t amount to much of anything.

He didn’t manage to steal the car, or even rifle through the contents, but she’ll head straight back in case he somehow made a U-turn with a mind to finishing the job. Right after she checks out the strange and blinding light radiating from the cracks around that doorway. It’ll only take a minute.

Her right shoulder leads as she takes careful steps, crosses one foot over the other, unholstered pistol at the ready.

There are no noises from within when she reaches it, so it’s probably not the back door to a nightclub or something similar. And it does occur to her that the last thing she needs tonight is to go and accidentally discover a crack house or illegal gambling den, but her luck always has been a little hit and miss. If that happens she almost certainly will call for backup.

She knows most of the businesses in this area, has frequented it regularly for years, but the dash to try and prevent her thief’s escape has left her momentarily disoriented. Without going back to check the nearest posted street sign the best she can do is guess at the exact location.

The eerie illumination seems to have brightened with every forward step, so that now as she stands in front of it, eyes squinting and blinking, she would swear it was daylight.

Wasn’t this alley dark a minute ago?

It’s the strangest thing. Mesmerizing and mysterious. How can so much light shine from a heavy security door? It’s like the whole block is on fire and as she makes to push her fingertips against the surface she expects it to burn.

What she doesn’t expect is a skull-splitting pain in the back of her head.

“Uunhh!”

Her knees give out and she falls forward as her gun clatters to the ground. Fingers splayed, she tries to brace her collapsing body against the door, but her hand catches nothing but air as she crumbles. There is no door, its steel somehow dissolved into nothingness and she is pulled straight through, the shimmering light swallowing her whole.

A feeble, involuntary groan leaves her throat as she hits the ground hard. Her eyes roll back into her head and all the light fades.

* * *

She doesn’t know the sound she makes. It’s a distressed, mewling whine that spills out as semi-consciousness allows searing pain to register but not much else.

_Uuunnngghhhh._

Rain splashes her face and she rolls over.

Freezing cold water soaks her front. Chills the skin beneath her shirt from neck to belly button. Draws frigid dampness into her crotch and spreads it down her legs.

_Where am I?_

Eyelids heavy. Cheek pressed to the floor. Nostrils full of the stench of trash and cigarette butts.

_What happened?_

Dripping wet, her matted hair is a curtain around her face as she braces herself against stinging cobblestone. It takes everything she has to drag her body up onto elbows and forearms and scraped knees.

“Ow. Fuck,” she grinds out, clenches her teeth to stop them chattering. She tries to lift a hand to her head but she’s too unsteady, almost lands on her face before she slams it back down.

Everything’s fuzzy. Did she fall and hit her head? Get attacked with a two-by-four? It feels like it.

She was chasing someone. The car thief. Was it him?

_Gun! I need my gun._

It’s a fight to keep her eyes open as frantic, frozen palms sweep the ground in a desperate arc, searching through dirty puddles for her dropped weapon.

But it’s gone. Big surprise. The suspect probably stole it after he hit her. She’s lucky she wasn’t killed right here.

Huffing, she sits back on her feet in a rush and immediately wishes she hadn’t.

Her head swims violently and the veins in her temples pound as she clutches her bowed head with one hand and slams the other against the cold steel of the service door. It’s not like Jane to puke easily but for a long moment, as she rests back on her knees, she thinks she might.

When it passes, she wipes filthy hands down her thighs so that exploratory fingers can move through her hair to check for blood. It is wet alright, still dripping like the rest of her, but not sticky and her hand comes away without any red.

Squeezing her eyes closed and forcing them open several times seems to help clear her vision a little, but fear keeps her dizzy. She’s injured, defenseless, and an attacker might come back. She should get the hell out of here.

She reaches for her belt holster – _stupid muscle memory_ \- and a sudden rush of guilt makes her want to vomit again. Fucking idiot. How many shootings will there be tonight? How many robberies at gunpoint because of her recklessness? Cavanaugh will lose his mind. She’ll be lucky not to lose her ba -

Wait. Her fingers tremble at the discovery.

Her standard issue Glock 22 sits neatly in its holster and her head swims again as her eyes snap downward. Practiced reflexes whip the weapon out through instinct to defend her prone form where she kneels. Not only is she wounded, she’s also unbelievably confused.

Her chest heaves with panting breaths as she sweeps the sight in every direction. Shaking hands try to remain steady, but there’s nothing and no one around. She’s alone.

She sags back against the door, finally sucks in a big lungful of air, and breathes, “What the fuck?!”

Her gun hit the floor. She recalls hearing the distinctive metallic clatter, it echoes in her ears. It’s bizarre, but she’d swear -

The light.

She remembers the light. It’s gone now, leaving the entire alleyway in nothing but dingy shades of slate and charcoal.

She struggles to her feet and turns, eyes the doorway nervously. But it’s just as solid and characterless as all the rest. No remarkable features and definitely no glowing aura.

She tests the door, pushes sore and frozen hands against the cold metal and finds it locked firm. Immovable.

Did she imagine it? She knows a head injury can wreak havoc. But she’s not sure anything else she actually _knows_ right now can be trusted.

It’s an unsteady walk back to her car, staggering and with one hand holding the back of her head. She wishes it would help, but the pressure doesn’t lessen the pain.

She could have sworn it was facing the other way but she finds her car exactly where she left it. And the tool the thief was using to try and bust the lock has vanished. Maybe he did come back this way after all, got rid of the evidence. The crime lab could run fingerprints. That’s an option she’ll think about later. Maybe.

For now, all she wants is to go home, dry off and swallow a handful of painkillers. And so she drives slowly away, hopes things will make more sense in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

A homicide call comes in ridiculously early. Wakes her up on the couch as her phone buzzes across the coffee table. It’s only as she reaches for it she realizes how awkwardly she has slept. There’s a crick in her neck and a throbbing pain in her head.

There are more grunts than actual words as she murmurs her understanding and agrees to attend. Once Dispatch gets the message, she hauls herself up onto her feet.

Yesterday’s suit, shirt and underwear lie on the bathroom floor, still damp and dirty where she dropped them last night in her haste to take a hot shower. She’ll pick them up later.

She tries hard to be tidy, doesn’t quite manage it all the time, but she’s damn sure she is neater than Frankie. Why is his stuff all over her apartment anyway? Last time she checked he had his own place.

There’s just one clean suit in the closet, an old one she hasn’t worn in a while. Though she’s always liked the color - dark gray with flecks of navy - she remembers swearing off it after Maura made a comment about the unflattering cut. It was immediately relegated to the far back corner and hasn’t seen daylight since.

Today it’s her only option, and so she throws it on over a plain tee.

She doesn’t remember skipping laundry day. Yet the absence of any clean clothes would suggest she’s been lacking a little in that department lately.

As she collects her keys, gun, and badge from the entryway table, swings the door closed behind her, she swears she’ll do it soon. There’s no time now, but she’ll get her act together, pick up her shit, and try to make sense of things. Last night included.

* * *

"Hi, Maura," she offers wearily as she meets the medical examiner outside the address on her phone.

"Good morning, Jane," comes the doctor's voice, soft and low and right next to her. 

Any residual fuzziness has cleared up during the drive here, but she still feels a little off balance as she stands on the sidewalk preparing to get to work. With her head hung low, she huffs and squints as she fights to snap on a pair of latex gloves.

When the doctor places a gentle hand on her forearm and asks "Are you okay?" it is with regret that she spits a terse "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" in reply.

She is out of sorts and now Maura knows it too. The doctor doesn’t comment, doesn’t react at all except for a subtle twitch of her eyebrow as hazel eyes look her up and down.

It’s not surprising. This is the part where the doctor leaves her to stew, to realize she's an ass all on her own. It usually doesn’t take long and this morning it’s pretty instant. She wishes she could start the day over already, wipe the slate clean.

It _is_ surprising, however, when instead of calmly walking away Maura removes the scant inches between them, wraps her hand around the back of Jane's head and kisses her sweetly on the mouth. 

It's far from the worst thing to happen to her, but it's startlingly unexpected and makes her brain stutter. "Uh, Maura? What - what are you doing?" she squeaks, winces at the fingers that glance over her sore scalp as she pulls quickly away.

Maura sighs hard and presses those delicate fingers to her brow. She looks pained and Jane instantly wishes she hadn't jumped back like she'd been stung. What the hell is wrong with her?

"I can't believe you're doing this again."

This. What's _this_? Maura has never kissed her at a crime scene before – never kissed her period - so she doesn't see anything wrong with her reaction. But there's a hurt lacing the blonde’s every word that certainly begs to differ.

"I waited patiently for months, Jane. I held back because you asked me to, until you said you were comfortable with it, and..." Suspicious hazel eyes sweep the scene, accuse every uniformed officer and CSRU tech in sight of something that Jane can't decipher. "If something's happened or you're having second thoughts -"

Totally lost, she shakes her head, "What? Maura, I-" But her friend takes a step forward, leans in and lowers her voice. It makes the whole thing feel a little bit dangerous and a heat rises beneath her collar.

"You need to talk to me. We can't do _any_ of this if you don't trust me..."

She still doesn't know what _this_  is - has a crazy and impossible idea of what it looks like - but she can't get a word in without rudely cutting Maura off and that seems like a bad idea. Instead she flicks the bottom of her jacket over her cocked hips and plants her hands there, silently absorbs a dressing down that she's increasingly unsure she doesn't deserve. 

"And believe me; I promise you, no matter the doubts you may still have, it's _not_ inappropriate. I'm a professional, too. You _know_ I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't do that to you. I wouldn't do that to _us_."

She doesn't immediately follow when Maura turns and disappears beyond the crime scene tape because there's a weight around her ankles that feels like concrete. What just happened? Added to last night, she's not one hundred percent certain she isn't slowly losing her mind.

Her brow is deeply furrowed as her eyes tail the blonde's retreating form. It's in these moments she usually feels free to appreciate her friend's figure, unhindered and without witnesses, allows her mind to freefall through jumbled thoughts of _what if_ and _just tell her_ and _maybe tomorrow_. But this time she just stares, blinks repeatedly in confusion.

She wants to check with her partner, ask him to smack some sense into her. But she catches the words _Barry_ and _case_ and _precinct_ on the wind, whispers that float past her ears from Maura’s conversation with Korsak a hundred yards away as they duck inside the house. If she had to guess, it looks like Frost isn’t here.

Maura's kiss was much too tame for this to be a dream. She’s had enough of them to know better.

And she never did put much stock in wishful thinking or prayer. She could sit upon her knees forever; it doesn’t stop Maura from dating a long line of unsuitable and undeserving men. The fact that she's never just come out and said _why_ it bothers her is entirely beside the point. Suffering in silence is kind of her thing. 

This isn't a practical joke either, that much she can tell. So unless her well-guarded secret is finally out, she can see no other reason why Maura would act like they were together.

Regardless, she isn’t about to argue. Content to welcome any further attention if it involves Maura’s mouth. It would just be a damn shame, and just her luck, to find out she is hallucinating as a result of the head injury.

She’s pretty sure it’s not serious. Remains convinced even as Maura’s voice lectures her about the dangers of concussions, dulcet tones that swim at the base of her skull right where it still throbs underneath a pronounced lump.

Staying very close to the doctor for the rest of the day, just in case, seems like the most sensible option.

She hurries to join her colleagues indoors, stalks up the front path as she fires off a text message to her friend. Fingers crossed he’ll have some answers.

* * *

A woman lies dead in her living room.

“Rebecca Mills, 31,” Korsak reads.

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other and meets his murky green eyes as they lift from his notepad. “Who found her?”

“Mail lady had a parcel that wouldn’t fit in the mailbox so she brought it to the door. Saw the car still in the driveway but got no answer when she knocked. Spotted the body through the window and dialed 911.”

“Forced entry?” she queries, surveys the destruction that surrounds them.

“Doesn’t look like it, but CSRU are checking latches and frames for tool marks and fingerprints.”

They won’t find any, she thinks. Textbook case of a victim knowing their killer. But whoever it was, she put up quite a fight. There might be something useful among the debris that they were careful to navigate on their way in. Whatever it may be, she hopes the techs find it once Maura’s crew remove the body and they clear out.

They say ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’, but Jane knows the statistics when it comes to homicides. Has seen it too many times before. A violent man scorned is a truly monstrous thing, but these increasingly frequent cases don’t make headlines quite like the occasional female perpetrator.

“Liver temp suggests time of death somewhere around 10pm,” Maura offers, removes the thermometer as Jane reads through some open mail. Maura hoists a bare shoulder, as if turning the victim over before lowering her back down. “Blood pooling suggests she died right here. The body wasn’t moved.”

“Going through a divorce,” Jane murmurs, drops a handful of court papers back onto the victim’s coffee table. “Whadda ya think? Fifty bucks says the ex-husband did it.”

Korsak’s eyes lift from Maura’s crouched form. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” he scoffs.

Maura sits back on her feet, balances effortlessly on towering heels. Looks up to find two sets of expectant eyes peering down. “You know fine well I won’t comment,” she sighs. “Not -”

“Until the results are in. We know, Maura.” Jane rolls her eyes. She should be annoyed by this exchange by now; they go through it at every crime scene. But it’s just part of the doctor’s charm. She’s consistent and reliable, sticks vehemently to her incorruptible methods. Jane supposes that’s why it’s still entertaining to try. It never gets old.

And boy, even leaning over a blood soaked victim the blonde is achingly beautiful -

She quickly clears her throat when she realizes she is staring. But it’s not like anybody else notices.

“She _was_ badly beaten before she was killed,” the doctor offers, a slight tilt of the head her only concession. “That would suggest it was personal.”

Nobody disagrees.

“That’s only a preliminary finding,” Maura warns and Jane nods emphatically, repeatedly to express her understanding. Nothing is concrete until the autopsy is complete and the crime lab results come back.

It’s par for the course, but enough for her and Korsak to run with. This is how it goes. This is normal. The most normal thing to happen to her since she left the Dirty Robber last night.

“So we’ve just gotta track him down,” Korsak shrugs, because their next move is obvious.

“And the child,” Maura says.

“What child?” Dark eyes sweep the room to double-check all the details she’d noted when they first arrived. Nothing right here indicates the woman has a child, of any age.

“I could be wrong, but -” and Jane snorts lightly as Maura lifts the victim’s shirt and pushes down her waistband to reveal a substantial scar. “I’d say that’s from a C-section.”

Jane gawps, “Are you guessing?!”

Maura hums for a second, appears to consider her conclusion again as her eyes run over the victim from head to toe. “Hmm, no. A process of elimination. At this time, it’s the only logical explanation that fits, given the lack of any other evidence...”

Jane’s phone buzzes and she zones out with the distraction of snatching it from her belt.

Korsak mumbles, “… bit young for a hysterectomy…”

– _Message Not Delivered_.

What the hell?

“… everything else is much less likely given the lack of any other surgical scars or corresponding medication in the house; organ donation, gastric bypass…”

She stows the phone and brings her colleagues’ discussion to an end with a dismissive wave, “Alright, Bones and Dr. Spock. Logical C-section it is.”

When Korsak clears his throat and supplies with a smirk, “Like I said earlier, uniforms cleared the scene before we got here. No one else in the house,” the atmosphere starts to thicken.

Maura tuts and laughs lightly with a wink, “You know I don’t guess, Jane,” and, wow, they’ve been messing with her. How did she not catch that?

She breathes out a humorless chuckle, tries to match the mood but it’s awkward and does nothing but create more tension as both of her colleagues’ smiles fall away, concerned frowns taking their place.

She missed something and they caught it, caught _her_ and she has no answers. Can’t find her voice for a comeback or an excuse under the weight of discomfiting hazel-eyed scrutiny as Maura’s face begs _are you really okay?_

Instead she backs away, flees toward the stairs as embarrassment burns her cheeks. “I’m gonna go double check…” she points, waves an index finger towards the ceiling as her feet shuffle. Fingers splayed, palms down, both hands make circular motions towards the carpet as she starts to climb, “While you finish up… down here… with… this. _Her_. Better safe than sorry!”

The bright and false smile she plasters on makes her face hurt, but it drops off the second she is high enough to be hidden from view. Her breath leaves in a rush and her shoulders sink into a hunch.

She’s not mad at them for seizing the opportunity to tease, even if, like most of Maura’s jokes, it did fall a little flat. Usually she’d be the first to chance a laugh at someone else’s expense, but she’s seriously off her game today.

And she could be angry with herself for that humiliating lapse, would be on any other day, if only she wasn’t so goddamned confused.

Of all the days of her life, not one has made her want to crawl right out of her own skin quite like today.


	3. Chapter 3

She makes to leave immediately once their scene investigation is over, wants to call her partner and have him do his thing as soon as possible to get them a head start, but Maura is quick to catch her elbow at the door.

“Promise me you’ll call if you’re not going to be home for dinner.”

“Uh...” she blinks, tries to recall any conversation about joint plans for tonight but comes up blank.

Maura sighs hard again and Jane notes that it’s happening a lot more than usual today. Combined with the frequent eye rolls and other odd behavior it feels like a slightly different version of her best friend.

“I know you, Jane. You’ll work ‘til you drop trying to find that missing girl. I don’t expect anything less. But if I don’t see you, I would at least like to know you’re okay, so that I can get some sleep.”

There’s a hand on her arm again and Maura’s breath on her face and she can’t think. Tenderness oozes from the blonde’s every pore and it’s so much like everything Jane has ever wanted that she’s considering reinstating that dream theory. She’s tempted to lean in and see if Maura might kiss her again. It feels like she would. 

Instead she nods, shucks a thumb over her shoulder and starts to slowly back away. “I’ll call you. I gotta go.” She’s already reaching for the phone clipped to her belt when she turns and mutters, “I need to talk to Frost.”

“Oh.”

It’s just one syllable. But that singular note drips with so much emotion it’s as effective as a gunshot in making her stop and turn back.

“Okay. Well...” There’s a cloud of something dark in Maura’s eyes, but it lifts a breath later and Jane barely has time to frown in question. “A bottle of Bordeaux would be wonderful with dinner, just... if you happen to pass DeLuca’s on your way back from the cemetery.”

It’s the tentative pause that gives Maura away. The first thing that came to the blonde’s mind wasn’t the first thing out of that beautiful mouth. She has no idea what topic Maura just avoided, or what the hell the cemetery has to do with anything. 

“Only if you have time,” the doctor adds, much brighter now but with a sympathetic pat to her arm. 

Trying to make sense of today’s events makes her head hurt almost as much as the lump that still sends occasional shooting pains ricocheting around her skull. Now is probably a good time to get a brain scan.

She spends a full ten seconds with her phone to her ear, pressing the fingers of her free hand into the knot of stress in her neck and watching Maura’s retreating figure once more before she realizes the call hasn’t even connected.

Frost’s speed dial hasn’t worked and she shakes her head at a blank screen as Maura’s car pulls away and leaves the scene. Trying and failing to find his number in her contacts sends her stomach into a nauseating flip as the pieces clumsily start to click together. 

She has the evidence, knows what it all would mean if it were part of a case. But she doesn’t like her conclusion, refuses to believe it. Her instincts are on point and her gut screams answers. For the first time in her life, she doesn’t want to listen.

But she has no other option, and so she dials a different number and tries to ignore the shiver that runs up her spine. 

The call connects just as a feint breeze drops and suddenly it’s as if she’s alone on an abandoned soundstage or movie set. It’s much too quiet, too still. Goosebumps blaze a trail for unease as it snakes its way through her limbs.

A deep voice in her ear brings her back to earth and she blurts, “Korsak! Don’t leave yet. I need a favor.”

* * *

She falls heavily into the passenger seat of Korsak’s unmarked car.

“What’s up, Jane?”

“Vince, look…” She sighs hard, hopes the use of his first name is enough to show she’s here for something serious. What she’s about to do feels a bit surreal and she buries one hand beneath her hair to rub at the very real lump under her scalp. Breathing deeply again, she wills herself to stop stalling and start talking. “Here’s the thing… I took a _really_ nasty knock to the head last night and now some things are kinda… fuzzy.”

She watches his wiry eyebrows dance up and down in surprise and concern.

“You need a ride to the hospital?”

She waves her free hand to dismiss him and props her elbow up on the inside of the car door. “No, no, I already got checked out.” It’s an outright lie of course and she stares pointedly out of the windscreen. Worrying that he might want to confirm her story makes her feel like a perp with a shaky alibi.

When he’s still silent a couple of beats later she turns, and dark brown eyes flick nervously between his and the view beyond the driver’s side window. “I just – it sounds ridiculous but I need to like… _realign_ my memories, have you clarify some details y’know. Everything’s really jumbled up right now.” And that’s not strictly a lie; she is very confused. Convincing him to go along with this scenario feels like the quickest way to the truth.

With animated hands, she puts it as plainly as she can in the hopes that she’ll get the same in return. “So, when I ask a question just pretend I’m not really me. Imagine I have amnesia or something and tell it to me straight, okay?”

“Okay,” Korsak offers quietly. It’s tentative and suspicious and he peers at her below a tightly drawn brow like he thinks maybe she should get a second opinion and have her head checked again. And maybe she should.

There aren’t many people who would be this patient with her and so she’s silently grateful for his cooperation, even if it’s most likely only due to curiosity on his part. To see where she’s going with this. He’s an old school detective after all and she’d probably do the same.

“Okay...” She swallows hard ahead of her first question. Lets it hang in the air between them. “So, Frost is…?”

He blinks a couple of times and then breathes, “Jesus, Jane.” It’s a heavy whisper laden with sadness and sympathy. A thick swallow from him betrays more than any words might as he looks away. “Are you seeing him again?”

 _Again?_ Her heart clenches painfully. She just saw him yesterday! But she hasn’t seen him today. Got the feeling Maura hasn’t seen him in months. “No,” she supplies, not knowing what else to say, but it lilts up at the end in uncertainty, almost a question. Like the dozens more that swim through her veins, begging desperately for answers.

“I don’t know how she knew, but Maura said this might come up again today.” Now it’s Korsak’s turn to stare out the windscreen. “You scared us in the beginning, y’know, those weeks after the funeral. Running into traffic like that, chasing after his ghost like your life depended on it. You’re lucky one of those cars didn’t hit you! I lost count of the number of times you screamed at me to stop the car and let you out.”

He shakes his head softly. His eyes are all glassy, and it’s so genuinely painful to watch that she tears up alongside him. “Oh god,” she mutters, but it does little to interrupt him as he continues to say things that threaten to break her heart.

“I’m just glad you accepted the help, Jane. We’d already lost him; we didn’t want to lose you, too. And we can get your wellbeing appointments started up again, if you’re… if you need them. You didn’t seem like yourself in there.”

Eyes closed and trying to stem tears, she cringes for three reasons.

One. The term ‘wellbeing’ is deliberately non-specific, employed by BPD to protect an officer’s dignity they claim. Sessions that cover anything from a sprained ankle to severe PTSD, and she’s found the vague generalization irrationally irritating from day one.

Jane _knows_ wellbeing appointments, has suffered through a variety of sessions, most tending toward the latter end of the scale after multiple experiences with Charles Hoyt.

Those are memories that will make her squirm until her dying day.

Two. ‘We’ sounds like an awful lot of people. More than just Korsak and Maura. Or even Korsak and Maura and her mother.

The way he says ‘we’, and repeats it, emphasizes it, sounds like Korsak and Maura and Angela and Frankie and Cavanaugh and most of the damn precinct and she’s mortified to the point of cheeks burning from even imagining herself in that position.

And three. It sounds awfully like her best friend and partner died, and she endangered herself by hallucinating him during an emotional breakdown.

Maura might say there are many reasons why she doesn’t remember any of this happening - memory repression, psychosis, plain old denial – though nothing feels more true than _it just didn’t happen._ Not to her anyway. Not in her lifetime.

This bang on the head is turning into one hell of a trip. And every thought, every theory on what’s happening to her stretches the silence that surrounds them. The whole situation just doesn’t bear thinking about.

Fear and apprehension rolls off Korsak in waves now and Jane knows he’s mistaken her silence and red face for something else. She just can’t set him straight. The truth as she knows it would put her one foot inside the nearest insane asylum.

“Maura doesn’t have to know you’re talking to someone again, if it bothers you that mu -”

“No, no. That’s not -” He really does know her so well, and that rare familiarity, that pseudo-fatherly love pumps warmth all the way to her fingertips. “It’s -” She shakes her head. It feels safer and more sensible to move on to the next important question. “Me and Maura… How did we, I mean – When did -”

“You get together?” he cuts in. “I don’t know exactly. I remember we drank ‘til late one Friday night at the Robber and you just – you held hands as you left. Nobody questioned it. Whether you were already together at that point or whether that was the first night you realized there was more for you at Maura’s than just a guest room… I certainly never asked.” Broad shoulders shrug loosely as a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “Because it didn’t matter. Still doesn’t. You two always seemed like you were headed that way. I guess losing Frost just gave you the push you needed.”

She is pretty much lost inside her own head, more unanswerable questions piling up by the minute. Wants to scream _are you shitting me?!_ and pound something with her clenched fists.

She’s never touched hard drugs but maybe this is what it feels like. Are the fresh and recent memories of Frost something else, her mind playing tricks, while her real life is rooted here?

Here, where… “Everything’s different,” she sniffs.

“Nothing’s changed. Not really,” Korsak says, a sprinkle of brightness lightening his eyes until they dip, mirroring the drop in tone and volume of his gravelly voice. “Well, apart from -”

“I get it.” And she does get it, doesn’t need to hear him say it again. She gets it like she’s been hit over the head with something heavy. Heavy like a tombstone maybe. Barry’s tombstone, which doesn’t exist because he’s not dead.

Yet it _does_ and he _is_.

Here, in whatever wicked and twisted version of reality she seems to occupy, she and her best friend are _together_ and Frost is dead. _Because_ Frost is dead.

It’s a dream come true and her worst nightmare all at once. But no matter how hard she pinches the skin on the back of her right hand she doesn’t wake up. There seems to be no escape.

Without warning, she opens the door and climbs out. “I’ll see you back at the precinct,” she mutters and stalks quickly away.


	4. Chapter 4

They have the BOLO and amber alert already issued, but she’s still supposed to be working on tracking down the missing husband and daughter of their latest victim. Instead, she stares at the empty desk opposite, a deep frown creasing her brow as she absently worries at her bottom lip.

That desk is starkly tidier than it was yesterday. The yesterday that she remembers.

Now, there are no piles of folders or stacked case files. No takeout coffee cups. No nametag. No personal items of any variety, except for the action figure she recalls last seeing on Frankie’s bookcase.

The blue and white robot stands sentinel next to Frost’s monitor, like it is keeping protective watch over the open bullpen and she wants so badly to know – to remember – how it ended up there.

Would Frankie humor her crazy talk like Korsak had if she called him and just outright asked?

“Find anything?” Korsak enquires from his desk to her right.

“Um,” she blinks, slow to turn but eyes reaching his eventually. “No, nothing.” And it’s true, she had at least completed a batch of standard searches before her mind started to wander. The screen blinks several pop up responses of ‘Not Found’ as proof.

“Let’s go see what Nina can dig up,” he suggests, plants his palms on the desk and rises quickly.

Nina isn’t a name that’s familiar and a blanket of dread weighs down her eyelids as he heads for BRIC. Following without comment, she takes cover behind the man’s broad shoulders, sniffs and runs a finger beneath her nose. The prospect of Frost having already been replaced makes her eyes sting.

She could cry. Could weep loud, messy, ugly tears given half a chance. Could sob for her lost friend and lost memories. Wants to bawl her confusion, but not here and not now. Not when she has important work to do, an innocent to save. And not when she’s still not convinced…

Denial. The first of the five stages of grief.

She’s survived it before. Stubborn enough to avoid and skip over all the other stages. Forced herself to race through them, lest she appear just as human as anyone else. Being _average_ is something she doesn’t permit, not while living and breathing death every day. Denial gets you nowhere.

Maybe she hasn’t escaped it this time. Maybe that’s what is twisting her world upside down.

They come to a stop in the heart of Boston’s Regional Intelligence Centre with its wall-to-wall screens and hi-tech computer equipment, and she prays this case will consume her attention, if only to put thoughts of Frost aside for a while.

Silent, she stands by as Korsak gives the case details to the woman at the helm. Remembers the last time, only days ago really, when her beloved partner occupied that same spot.

“Charlie Mills,” he states, drops the case file on the desk so Nina can get a look. “We’ve checked the usual and hit a dead end. Can you work your magic and dig something up?”

“Sure thing,” she replies easily, graces them both with kind eyes and a beaming smile.

Dammit. She’s friendly and warm and if Nina keeps this up Jane doesn’t think she’ll be able to resent her for long. It seems universally unfair that she even _looks_ a little like Frost.

“Here you go,” Nina says, eyes pinned to the largest screen on the wall where the results are shown for all to see.

Jane shakes herself again. How did Nina do that so fast? Frost was good, could run rings around her and Korsak, but - There can’t have been more than a half dozen key strokes, either that or her mind had wandered again. It’s entirely possible.

“Charlie Mills,” Nina confirms, “Self-employed consultant. Worked most recently for Greenslate Real Estate and before that for Jameson Investments.” Several more keystrokes send layer after layer of documents up onto the screen in a dizzying pattern.

She squints hard. Deciphering any useful detail from the mass of financial information displayed is nigh impossible. Bank statements, tax returns, land registry. It might as well be Greek to her but Nina reads it with enviable ease.

“Looks like he’s earning rental income all across the city,” Nina states, glances over for a second. “The money moves here and there – tax avoidance, probably, it’s a pretty standard tact-”

“Wait a second,” Jane interrupts, wags an index finger at the screen and inches forward in interest, only stopping when her thighs meet the edge of Nina’s desk. “He owns a bunch of other houses?”

“Yes,” the woman nods, unfazed by Jane towering over her as she continues. “The deed transfers are pretty well buried; I’d say he used the investment company as a cover. But the money all seems to lead back to him.”

Her eyes lock with Korsak’s and he mirrors her smile. Hope is always a good motivator and now that they have something to go on, they can get moving. Literally. “Can you forward the addresses of those properties to our phones?”

They’re already almost out the door as Nina replies, “On it.”

“Thanks!” And she means it, flashes a wide smile of her own over her shoulder, eager to do what she does best and go catch a killer.

It’s straightforward enough as cases go. All indications point to the husband killing the mother and then taking off with their only daughter. Now they just have to prove it and find him, stop him before he hurts anyone else.

* * *

They find him at the second house on the list.

But they find him alone.

The tenants of the first house had let them look around, had nothing but good things to say about Charlie Mills.

He is a nice guy apparently – affable was a word somebody used - and it’s annoying as all hell to admit he seems that way in interrogation, too, at first.

As with any victim’s relative, they’re very sorry for his loss. They get him a drink of water and try to make him comfortable. But not too comfortable. He’s a suspect after all, and so they’re not slow in getting down to business.

“Did Rebecca have any enemies that you know of?” Jane asks softly, “Anyone who would want to hurt her?”

“No,” he sniffs, runs a nervous hand through sandy blonde hair before he adds a shrug. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since before the divorce papers were drawn up.”

“And your daughter, what can you tell us about her?”

“I don’t know anyone that would hurt her either,” he says, but he can’t meet her eyes and shifts in his seat.

He seems upset, understandably so, but in an understated way that niggles beneath her skin. He’s not devastated that Rebecca is dead, but that’s nothing she hasn’t come across before. Sometimes there’s just too much bad blood mixed into that water under the bridge.

But he doesn’t light up at the mention of Kelsey either, not like most fathers would, and it raises the first little red flag.

“Any problems of your own lately?” she asks, heading away from the obvious topic of the missing girl to revisit later. “Anyone who might be trying to hurt you by hurting them?”

He scoffs. “Problems? No. Not unless an ugly divorce counts.”

And of course it counts. It could be motive for murder at the very least.

Her brows draw together, and she catches Korsak scribbling something in her periphery.

_Ugly?_

It’s a perfect match for her next question and it settles a warm feeling in her belly, like her first coffee of the day. That they’re still so in sync after all these years is comforting.

“In what way was it ugly, Mr. Mills?”

And he scoffs again, an almost barked laugh, humorless and bitter. “In every way. She was trying to _take_ things from me, things she wasn’t entitled to.” When his eyes lift, they’re cold and angry, and the face of an altogether different Charles flashes through her mind.

Korsak takes over while she blinks away the haunting visual. “Do you mean the second property, the one we found you at? Did she know about that?” He’s played the property card close to his chest and it’s a smart move. One she’s thankful for. One they can use to their advantage depending on how the suspect answers.

“Well off course she knew,” Charlie sneers, causing both her and Korsak to stiffen. “I had to move somewhere when she kicked me out.”

This feels like they’re getting somewhere, setting a subtle trap that he may be unwitting enough to fall in to. And so when he visibly deflates and continues a second later she’s happy just to let him talk and see what spills out.

“But I own another one. It’s a rental,” he sighs, palms face up on the table, as if he’s freely giving them the confession they’re looking for. “When she discovered my extra income she flipped, threatened to take me to the cleaners. It didn’t matter that I owned it before I met her…”

She lets him trail off, content to have a moment of quiet in which to think.

He’s smart, but he’s no Einstein. Probably thinks if he’s willing to give up information they don’t already know, they won’t go digging.

But he’s wrong. Because they do know, thanks to Nina, and owning up to one house, rather than an entire portfolio speaks volumes. They can garner just as many clues from what he _doesn’t_ say.

“Do you have any other family, Mr. Mills?”

“Only child,” he says flatly, seemingly bored and not seeing the point in their questions. “My parents are dead.”

Jane nods, tries to loosen him back up with a smile. “And what about Rebecca’s parents?”

He shrugs. “I never met them. All I know is Rebecca and her mom had a fight years ago and they haven’t talked since.”

They’re not getting any case-breaking information and he’s becoming rigid with irritation. Jane scribbles a note of her own and sticks it under Korsak’s nose. _Let’s take a break._

Clearing her throat, she throws a meaningful look in the Sergeant’s direction. It’s a half smile that says _just trust me_. To Charlie it should be no reason to worry.

She inches her chair away from the table, clear indication that they plan to leave. It’s a tried and tested maneuver. A break will give him room to breathe, make him feel safer, like they’re on his side and believe everything he’s told them.

When she smiles it’s deliberately warm and reassuring, adds to any false sense of security he might be harboring. “Thank you, Mr. Mills. We just have a few things we need to check on if you don’t mind waiting.”

“Of – Of course,” he nods.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” she says, lightly slapping her thigh and turning back to the suspect while Korsak holds the door halfway open. It does no harm if Charlie thinks her a scatter-brained halfwit. “When we picked you up earlier, you said you were home all night last night. Is there any way we can confirm that?”

“Um,” he blinks, removes his fidgeting hands from the table and hides them in his lap. “I was home alone, but – I mean… I made some calls from my cell around 9.30 if that helps?”

“Okay,” she says brightly, a fake smile plastered across her face. “We’ll be right back. Hang tight.”

* * *

“Thoughts?” Jane asks quietly as Korsak joins her behind the two-way mirror.

“Nina’s still digging, but he’s squeaky clean so far. Not even so much as a parking ticket, which is suspicious in itself if you ask me.”

She lets out a chuckle, feels light for a brief moment before they turn serious again.

“He had a gun registered in his name, a 9mm. Reported it stolen nine months ago. No record of him buying any ammunition then or since, so if he did it wasn’t from a licensed store.”

“Interesting,” she mumbles. Another red flag to add to the two already checked off.

“He just lied to us about the real estate, too,” he reminds her and she nods slowly, knows there’s more to it.

“As alibis go, his isn’t great.” The ‘home alone’ ones are always tricky and unhelpful.

Korsak murmurs in agreement. “I’ll have Nina run his cellphone anyway.”

She stares at the man sat alone in their interrogation room while her colleague sends a text message. Her back is rigid, arms folded across her chest as her teeth nibble her bottom lip.

“Cell tower records will only tell us where his _phone_ was, not where _he_ was,” she says, thinking aloud. “We’ve got no murder weapon, so we need something else.”

“Like what?” Korsak grumbles.

She knows they’re clutching at straws until the physical evidence gives them a definite lead. “Anything come back from those other addresses?” she prompts, waves a finger at the phone he’s still holding.

He pulls up messages while she taps her index finger against her lips. “Uniforms spoke to another set of tenants and took a look around but didn’t find anything. The last house on the list was empty, didn’t look lived in.”

“Okay,” she breathes, calmly absorbs the information.

“You still think he did it,” he states, eyeing her profile as she continues to watch Charlie Mills through the glass. It’s not even a question.

He knows her, can probably tell by the way she stands, or the way she rolls her weight back and forth on the balls of her feet. She’s restless. Her brain running a thousand miles a minute.

“He was evasive when I asked about Kelsey.” She squints, wags an index finger at their captive as Korsak nods and follows along. “Like he didn’t want to talk about her. At all. Something felt… off.”

“Y’know, as good as your gut is sometimes we need a little more to go on, Jane.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she dismisses, swats a palm in the direction of his bicep. He’s teasing but it’s not unkind, certainly not the kind of jibe she’s used to from some of the other guys in the bullpen. If anything, it’s encouraging, pushes her to do better, to be a better cop.

It’s everything she strives for every day. To get the job done and catch the bad guy. To make him proud. And even though she knows he noticed the same signs she did, and hasn’t explicitly disagreed with her on anything, he’s right. They do need more to go on.

They stand shoulder to shoulder for long silent moments as she chews on the tip of a thumbnail. It’s not easy to watch the only suspect in their case sigh in boredom and check his watch like his old lover isn’t lying in the morgue and his only offspring isn’t missing.

She breathes in sharply as a bare-bones plan formulates in her mind. When she turns to Korsak, it is with a pointed eyebrow raised in daring question. “We might have another twenty-four hours to wait for lab results, but what if we got a second opinion on this guy in the meantime?”

Korsak tries to smother a smirk. “Do I even need to ask who you have in mind?”


	5. Chapter 5

“Hey, Maura,” Jane says as she breezes into the autopsy suite, doors swinging closed behind her.

She’s halfway to the metal table when she suddenly pauses. This morning’s incident flashing through her brain is all it takes to slow her steps.

They’re together now. Apparently. Things have changed between them, and it takes a second to shake off the idea that they might interact differently in these situations. It doesn’t seem likely, especially given the things Maura said.

Focusing solely on the case, she pushes any personal thoughts aside, just clears her throat and smiles as Maura looks up from where she’s leaning over the victim’s body. “Got anything for me?”

The smile she gets in return is just like old times and she can do nothing about the flutter of her heart.

Maura grabs the fluoroscope and runs it over the victim’s limbs. “She was beaten _severely_ before she died.”

The deep purple bruising on the woman’s body should be shocking enough, but she glances at the screen, takes in the image of even more invisible marks beneath the skin’s surface and can’t help but grimace. “Wow,” she breathes, talking to herself. “Guy sure was angry.”

“Cause of death is a single gunshot wound to the chest,” the doctor continues, points a gloved index finger at a very obvious wound, before she offers up a small steel bowl for Jane to peer in to. “I recovered a 9mm bullet. It transected the aorta before getting lodged between two of her spinal vertebrae. I’ll send it to IBIS for analysis.”

Jane strokes her chin as she runs through possibilities. “Tough guy either couldn’t bring himself to finish the job with just his hands, _or_ … killing her wasn’t the plan to start with.”

A simple head tilt and pursed lips is all she gets from Maura. Like the blonde thinks either theory sounds plausible enough.

“Ballistics could be a bust since we didn’t find the murder weapon,” she says, not thinking and watches as one of Maura’s eyebrows lifts, unimpressed.

It’s not that she means to offend, or insinuate that Maura’s part in these proceedings is anything but the single most important step in finding a killer. She just forgets herself sometimes. It’s why their friendship has always been peppered with occasional bouts of strain and tension. She values Maura just as much as Maura values herself, she just forgets to let the other woman know sometimes.

“Anything else?” she says, quickly moving along.

“I can tell you she wasn’t sexually assaulted,” Maura sighs with a shrug. Like it should be a good thing but she’s clearly frustrated. The autopsy hasn’t revealed anything they weren’t already expecting, leaving them no further along in the investigation. “The lab tests are being rushed through because there’s a missing child involved. I’ll let you know the _second_ I have something.”

“Thank you,” she smiles, drinks in the doctor’s apologetic face and appreciates how thoughtful the woman is even in difficult times. She catches herself staring again, much too long for it to be work appropriate, and a feint blush rises on Maura’s cheeks. “Okay, well… In the meantime, I was wondering if you could help me with something else...”

* * *

“This is very unconventional,” Maura huffs as she strides back and forth behind the two-way mirror, exudes a mix of nerves and anxiety.

The doctor is bound to feel pressured; she hadn’t taken no for an answer. She had loitered downstairs for another half hour waiting for Maura to finish up with the victim. Had made a nuisance of herself even as the body had been slid into a refrigerated drawer.

“You’ve done it before and you’d really be doing me a huge favor.”

“Jane -” Maura whines, breaths coming faster and shallower the more she paces. “What if I get this wrong? You know psychology isn’t my specialty. Look at what happened with Hoyt. I made a huge mistake and you almost -”

“Maura -” she butts in, trying to appear as caring as possible while preventing any further recap of the worst day of her life. Grasping the blonde by the shoulders, she locks eyes and wills the other woman to calm down. “Just breathe for a second.”

She can’t help but glance at Maura’s neck… where dark eyes trace the path of three long scars where once there was only one.

It’s odd, she muses, since she surely must have seen it – them - up close before.

And they are very close, she realizes, her hands having pulled Maura’s body into hers of their own volition. Her attraction is stronger than ever.

“This guy isn’t Hoyt,” she whispers, throws a quick glance at the man behind the glass. “He’s not a danger here. Nothing bad is going to happen to us if you’re wrong, but I know a six-year old girl that will love you for helping.”

It is a low blow, she knows that, cringes internally the instant the words leave her mouth. Using emotional blackmail should be beneath her and honestly, she’s ashamed. But then she’s always made it a point to use every investigative tool available to get the job done. Sometimes that includes utilizing the hidden talents of their Chief Medical Examiner.

“Korsak’s gonna ask him some simple questions,” she explains as soon as Maura nods her agreement. “We already know that people tend to avoid eye contact when they’re covering up their lies.”

“Or love,” Maura adds, all soft voice and warm hazel. “People avoid eye contact to hide lies… or love.”

It makes Jane smile.

She wiggles long fingers in front of her own face. “You just… do your asymmetric face reading thingy and tell me if his is _wonky_ or whatever. I just need to know if _you_ think he’s lying, if we’re on the right track. Okay?”

Maura steps away and turns toward the glass just as Korsak re-enters the interview room and takes a seat opposite Charlie Mills. It looks like they’re all ready.

“Okay,” Maura nods as Jane slips in the earpiece.

* * *

She slaps her cellphone down on the desk. “Dammit!”

“There’s nothing more we could do, Jane,” Korsak offers impatiently, hovers at her side as she sits down.

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” she says quietly, frustrated but not wanting to raise attention throughout the bullpen.

“I’m not saying it doesn’t stink,” he argues, clearly a little pissed at her petulant mood. “I trust Maura’s judgment just as much as you do. But the DA isn’t going to charge him because his left eyebrow wiggled when I asked him about killing Rebecca.”

She plants her elbows on the desk and palms her face, groans as she rubs her fingers into tired eyes. It’s her way of acknowledging his voice of reason.

“Look, it could be worse,” he nudges, stating the obvious positives that she’s choosing to ignore in favor of sulking negativity. “He could have been totally uncooperative and lawyered up the second we brought him in, but he didn’t. At least this way, if the DNA and GSR tests confirm what your gut keeps telling you, then when we charge him it’ll stick.”

“I know, I know,” she sighs, flops back in her chair. “It’s just… The way he asked if he was free to go...” A growl escapes from the back of her throat as her top lip curls up in a sneer. “I wanted to slap that smirk right off his face.”

Korsak chuckles sympathetically. “You’re not the only one.”

“I’m gonna find that little girl if it kills me,” she promises.

A beefy hand claps her on the shoulder blade. “And I’m here to make sure it doesn’t come to that. Come on. We’re going to talk to Nina.”

* * *

Korsak comes rushing to her side at the sound of breaking glass. “Jane!”

It’s probably the fastest he’s moved all week. She can imagine the way his head must have whipped around and the curse words that she suspects left his lips. The thought generates a tiny smile as she reaches through the door to unlock it from the inside.

“What?! I thought I heard something,” she lies, and the rise of a single bushy eyebrow tells her he isn’t the least bit fooled.

Nina had confirmed this address is tied to the suspect, and while they’re stuck waiting for warrants she reasons Exigent Circumstances will permit them entry. It is the only house on the list left unsearched and she just needs to be sure Kelsey isn’t here. The girl’s life depends on them leaving no known stone unturned.

If there’s any fallout for breaking the rules she’ll argue that Vince wasn’t here, take the blame and the punishment alone. The fact that he was just out of sight around the corner is a minor technicality that she doesn’t plan to mention.

Stepping over broken glass, they withdraw their weapons and move through the house. With an ease borne of training and experience, they clear it room by room in near silence.

There’s nothing in the way of furniture, no hiding spaces except for the odd closet, so it doesn’t take long to declare all the rooms truly empty.

When Korsak points her attention to a suspiciously padlocked door, most likely leading to the basement, they both freeze. He’s a pale shade of gray and she thinks it might have a lot to do with the look of horror on her face, as well as the thought that little Kelsey might be down there.

She knows when Hoyt held her captive in a basement of her own, she wasn’t the only one he left tortured and wracked with nightmares.

But this space is clear, too. Kelsey Mills isn’t here.

She waits on the sidewalk while Korsak calls it in. Wonders what they missed as her imagination runs wild.

“What if she wasn’t even taken?” she blurts when he approaches. “Why haven’t we thought of that? What if she got woken up by the noise of her parents fighting, and ran off into the night, frightened and alone?”

“A wandering kid would have been reported by now if someone had found her,” he says, all forced patience and calm as if he hopes it might rub off on her.

She snaps her fingers. “Exactly! _If_ someone found her. What if no one found her, Vince? She could be lying in a ditch somewhere.”

“Jane -”

The way he holds his palms out to her is reminiscent of the last time she saw him trying to soothe a frightened stray dog. She purses her lips, unimpressed. “Or what if somebody found her, and didn’t report her, huh? Some sicko could have snatched her, taken her hundreds of miles away from here by now...”

She knows he hears her, has to have considered all other possibilities himself at some point, just like any good detective would. But with a deep sigh, he just opens the passenger side door and points for her to get in. “Come on. We have to get back to the station,” he says, all no nonsense and steely eyes as his pointer finger moves from the car to her chest. “ _You’ve_ got reports to write.”

She falls into the seat with a roll of her eyes, supposes that doing his share of the paperwork means getting off lightly considering the shit she just pulled. It’s a decision she doesn’t regret though. It was worth the gamble, and she’d do it again in a heartbeat.

* * *

“You’re not staying? Wow. I thought I was gonna have to escort you out,” Korsak chuckles as he watches her put on her suit jacket.

She’s worked late more times than she can count, and would of course put in every hour required to close a case. But today – today has been a strange one from the off and she needs – _wants_ \- to try doing something a little different.

“I’d love to stay,” she professes dramatically, gets the rolled eyes she expects from him. And it feels a little reckless saying it out loud, but the temptation to see how the words taste on her tongue instead of swallowing them and going home alone is just too strong. “But I - I wanna spend some time with Maura.”

Admitting what she wants is such a relief. Even more so when all she gets is an indifferent shrug that says _fair enough_ in return. It feels a lot like permission. Like encouragement.

She wants to be able to say it every day.


	6. Chapter 6

She doesn’t knock, just lets herself in. Finds Maura’s door unlocked anyway, as it always has been for her and she smiles. Some things are still very much the same as she remembers.

She discards the items clipped to her belt on a side table, and shrugs off her suit jacket. Lays it neatly over the arm of the couch, eyes firmly latched onto the blonde at the stove.

“I’m glad you made it home,” Maura says, throws a smile over her shoulder as she attends to something that smells like delicious marinara sauce.

Jane pauses, just watches. Croaks, “Me, too.” The words strained through a lump in her throat.

There’s nothing unusual about this scene, nothing out of place, and yet the difference, the feeling in her chest is… indescribable.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she breathes in the quiet space. It helps build her courage, and as that grows her disbelief fades. This space has always felt like home to her. _Their_ home.

Everything feels new and old all at once, as she continues to watch Maura from afar.

But then she’s pushing off the edge of the island counter and fingers dance silently along the length of the surface as she moves across the kitchen.

She doesn’t touch as she stands right behind Maura. _Almost,_ but not touching. Inhales long and deep. Breathes in shampoo and perfume and home-cooked comfort food. It’s exhilarating. And her eyes fall closed again as her fingertips tingle with anticipation.

She lets her chin fall, wants to bury her face into those soft waves of blonde hair. She couldn’t do it before, has wanted to for years, but always found an obstacle. Usually herself.

Now her stomach flops and rolls with nervousness, because she can, if she wants to and oh god does she want to. So, she draws on her courage before it has any chance to flee. She’s too close to turn back, feels things too deep to ignore.

Palms finally land, softly caressing the doctor’s hips, and she holds her breath. Surrenders to the secret longing that had fueled her refusal of Casey’s proposal back when she was still burying herself in denial. Hiding in a proverbial closet as big as Maura’s walk-in.

And then she prays.

She prays she isn’t mistaken, isn’t imagining things. Prays she hasn’t fallen for someone’s lies or been made the victim of a cruel and heartless prank. Now that she’s made a move, her heart is racing. It will surely explode in her chest if Maura turns to her with anything resembling scorn or ridicule.

If this all somehow goes to hell, she’s pretty sure she might actually die.

But Maura hums in pleasure, covers one of Jane’s hands with one of her own and tilts her head to the side.

Jane breathes out in relief, presses her lips to Maura’s neck and wraps both hands, one still with Maura’s own riding piggyback, tightly around the blonde’s waist.

“Hi,” Maura purrs. Says it like they haven’t seen each other in weeks.

It lights a fire within her and she can’t stop kissing, doesn’t want to. Presses her lips to Maura’s skin over and over. Runs her hands across the doctor’s abdomen, up her ribcage, then down to the tops of her thighs and back again. Repeats it until Maura’s breathing is heavy, her eyes closed and both hands supporting them against the edge of the counter.

“Jane,” Maura shudders as she cups supple breasts, rolls them and squeezes firm flesh, sweeps thumbs over stiffening nipples through layers of lace and silk.

She nibbles the flesh in her mouth and cants her hips forward, earns another series of moans.

Maura shivers as Jane tongue kisses her neck. “I made pasta,” the doctor whispers again and Jane lets out a dark chuckle. As if she’s going to pay any attention to actual food now that she has this woman in her mouth.

She withdraws, removes the pressure at Maura’s back, and the woman turns just as she’d hoped. “Not hungry,” she growls, plants her lips on Maura’s as one hand pulls their bodies back together and the other deftly flicks off the stove.

She squats for a brief second, makes Maura gasp as her skirt is shucked roughly up her thighs. Generates a squeak of surprise, too, as she plants both hands on Maura’s butt, picks her up and deposits her on the countertop.

They kiss again, rampant passionate kisses with tongues that stroke and dance. Creating sensuous noises that drive them ever onward. Everything that surrounds them falls away as arousal takes over.

“What are you doing?” Maura breathes when they break, makes no attempt to stop or slow Jane and her wandering lips as they creep down Maura’s throat to the hollow where clavicles meet.

“I love you,” she mumbles, though her desperation is clear, “I love you I love you.” She pauses, straightens up to find Maura’s eyebrows drawn together. “Let me love you,” she rushes, “Please? I’m sorry for – for not -”

“It’s okay,” Maura says, kisses the words onto her forehead.

“No, it’s not. I shouldn’t have -” But there’s so much to say, too much, and she can’t make the points she needs to succinctly and in the right order. How do you apologize for the things you know you must have done wrong but that you can’t remember?

With a sigh, her forehead falls to join Maura’s and she runs her palms over the blonde’s thighs as she speaks softly. She still doesn’t know if this is real, but it feels real enough and she grabs ahold with both hands before the illusion slips away.

“I’m an idiot,” she states and Maura tsks, gives her a headshake.

She tries again, words spilling out, quieter still. “Yes, an idiot… but I love you. I’ve always loved you. Shoulda told you sooner, I know that now. And I wouldn’t ever push you away, not if I thought you wanted me too.”

Maura cups her face, strokes her cheek, and holds her face away so she can get a good look. And all the while, the blonde frowns like Jane’s not making any sense, and to _this_ Maura she probably isn’t.

“Please don’t doubt it. Don’t doubt my feelings for you. Ever,” she pleads, her voice thick with emotion and suddenly hazel eyes are watery and glistening. Dammit.

She ducks her head before any tears spill over and speak into Maura’s neck again. “I’m so sorry for this morning. It won’t happen again, just – I can’t lose you.” Long arms wrap around Maura’s waist and squeeze tight, just in case she wakes up from this dream to find Maura is gone.

But the blonde remains, rubs her hands over Jane’s upper back and murmurs _shush_ between kisses into raven hair.

“I only just got you,” she continues, unable to stop now that the floodgates are open. “And I’m _so_ in love with you and I’m sorry -”

Maura kisses her then, hot, demanding, and heat rages between her thighs as shapely legs wrap around her waist and arms lock around her neck.

Filling her hands with Maura’s luscious ass once more, she pulls the woman towards her, draws out a sultry moan as their bodies press together between Maura’s legs, and in a heartbeat she’s thinking about how many steps it would be to the bedroom.

But, Maura grabs her hand and pushes it between them. Leads trembling fingers straight up her skirt and into her underwear. Jane’s eyes are wide at the lack of preamble but fuck, it feels good.

Maura is so warm, and god so very wet and guides her hand quickly, clearly in no mood for slow. Fingers dip slightly into her drenched opening then rub the full length up to her clit, once maybe twice, but barely much at all and definitely not enough for Jane’s liking. And then with Maura’s grip firmly latched around her wrist it takes no effort at all to sink two fingers straight into her.

They gasp together.

She pushes deep. And curls.

“Uuuunnghhh.”

Strokes walls of ridged flesh on her way out. Watches Maura’s mouth fall open and her eyes close and she wants to make that happen over and over again.

This isn’t what she expected their first time to be like, didn’t think she’d ever be here anyway. It is mind-blowing nevertheless.

She pumps her fingers out and in again and the noise Maura makes is scandalous. Like pure sex dipped in warm honey.

“Fuck,” she mutters, and does it again. Draws out another noise, and another, again and again, because it’s intoxicating and she’s already addicted.

“Mmm.” Maura rocks her hips, meets her thrusts and growls, “Harder.”

She obliges immediately. Ignores the surrealism of wantonly finger fucking her best friend on her kitchen counter, because this is her life now, this _is_ real and she’s the luckiest woman alive.

Her clit throbs like it’s never throbbed before as Maura comes hard, grunts through the muscle spasms that signal her climax, latching onto Jane’s fingers. And that’s okay because she doesn’t ever want to pull them out anyway.

When her hand finally retreats, it’s only to let curious fingertips explore, to meander gently through velvet soft folds, relish in moist heat. She breathes in wonder at the feel of Maura’s clit, swollen and stiff, begging for more attention. She strokes it, circles it, pinches between thumb and forefinger and rubs it. Every move sends another jolt of pleasure through Maura’s body and she twitches each time, leans heavier on Jane, and tries to catch her breath.

Jane kisses her again. Slower, less demanding, but still firm, adoring.

“I love you, too,” Maura pants. “Idiot.” Then squeals and giggles when Jane drags her straight off the counter, dipping her hips to make sure she catches the doctor’s weight high above them, and carries her straight to the bedroom.

* * *

It occurs to her in the middle of the night as she stares at the ceiling. She never did count the steps between the kitchen and the bedroom.

It’s just one of a million things she’s thinking about because her brain won’t switch off. She has so much residual energy buzzing through her limbs she could conceivably run a marathon before it is time to start work. It feels like the only sleep she’s going to get tonight would be at that finish line.

She sighs, long and hard, allows guilt to cut it off at the end as Maura rolls away as if disturbed. The movement frees up a trapped arm, and Jane flexes her fingers to exorcise the developing pins and needles as her eyes trace the contours of Maura’s sheet-covered body in the dark.

Dammit, she should be exhausted. Physically worn and in need of restful recuperation given their earlier exertion. Maura had paid her back for every single orgasm… and then some.

It shouldn’t take flattened fingers pressed over her pubic bone to confirm it is already tender, but her hand moves anyway. She tests out the soreness and cups between her legs, grateful that she retains some physical evidence of Maura and their lovemaking.

Perfectly sated, she feels no temptation to move her fingers. Doesn’t wish to stimulate her clit or slide her fingers inside even in the remote hopes that another climax might push her over the edge into sleep.

That isn’t what she wants.

She’s never been able to lie still for very long during nights where sleep eludes her. The memories of nightmares so torturous they chased her from beneath the covers night after night linger around the edges of her mind. They haven’t visited her recently, but the ingrained coping mechanism remains.

With one last look over at Maura, she slips out of bed, snatches her underwear and ill-fitting gray suit and silently leaves the room.


	7. Chapter 7

The second she’d started the car she’d realized she wasn’t going to get very far without help.

She’d sat for a minute while it idled, before deciding she couldn’t stomach the additional embarrassment that calling Korsak would create. Asking him yet more questions to which she should already know the answer.

So she’d called in a favor or two instead. Asked around and eventually awoken a very grumpy employee of the Cemetery Records Office in order to get the information she’d needed.

Now she doesn’t have to scour every burial ground from here to Readville, but there’s still some searching to do. So she walks the paths of Evergreen Cemetery, hands stuffed into the pockets of a winter parka she’s dragged from the trunk and shrugged on over her suit jacket.

The cold air stings her face, freezes eyes that rarely blink as they hunt in the dark, concentrating on every name as her gaze follows the methodical search pattern of her flashlight.

Row after row of stones. Granite markers for those who are forever lost to the world.

She’s not sure how much time has passed, how long she’s wandered, almost ready to quit and go home lest the morning sun rise to find her still here, still searching.

Then a sudden gasp halts her feet and the beam from her flashlight dithers erratically in the dark under a trembling hand.

_No, no, no._

Every sinew resists the very truth that she has stubbornly sought out. Every word feels like an ice-cold drip inside her chest as she reads the inscription.

_Barold ‘Barry’ Frost_

_Wonderful son._

_Beloved friend._

_Boston’s finest._

_Death may have taken you,_

_But it will never take our memories._

There’s a sharp inhale, a shallow screech of shock that repeats over and over as her chest heaves. And then her legs give out, folding beneath her collapsing body. The impact is heavy when her butt hits the ground, and her barely half-full lungs let rip with an anguished cry that soon turns into a silent scream as her oxygen runs out.

“No, no, no,” she sobs aloud when she’s able to breathe again, pounds the flashlight into the ground beside her as her watery gaze stares at words that tear through the muscle of her heart.

When she’s done swinging the heavy tool it blinks out once, twice, and then dies completely. “Aw shit,” she mutters, sniffling wetly. It is just her luck. She lets out a bitter chuckle, levels it directly at Barry. If he were here, he’d laugh at her being ridiculous, too.

“What the fuck, man?!” she exclaims into the blackness, lobs the broken flashlight petulantly towards his headstone. “What is _this_?” she shouts, shoulders hunched up and hands gesturing the outline of his personal little plot. “What are you doing here? Of all people – _You_ are _not_ supposed to be here! Not before me! I didn’t even get to say goodbye, dammit!”

For long moments, only her sniffles permeate the silence. “What happened to you?” she whispers, “I don’t even know what happened – I - I don’t remember.”

Her frown is heavy as her brain works hard to fill in the gaps. The best she can do is replay the bits she does remember, as if he’s somehow going to help her complete the picture. “You were just here! We closed the Murphy case, right, which was a _huge_ deal because it’d driven us nuts for two straight weeks… then we went to the Robber and... You watched me leave… with that – that… goddamned _gooey_ look on your face.”

She can hear him chuckle clear as day as she eyes him sideways. “Every time I turned her down you gave me that stupid look behind her back. I don’t know how Maura never caught you. Asshole.”

Scolding him repeatedly for encouraging her attraction hadn’t put him off, and she could never be truly mad because he’d had good intentions. He’d wanted to see her happy. Could see her happy with Maura, he’d said.

“Next thing I know I’ve got a busted head and I’m living in a world where _nothing_ makes _any_ sense.” Long fingers creep beneath her hair and gently examine her scalp, shoring up her words with painful proof.

“I mean… It _looks_ like my life, but I feel like I don’t… _fit_. I have no goddamn idea what’s happening to me. And here you are -” she points accusingly, “no fucking use whatsoever! Right when I need you. Lying down on the job!”

The humor found in berating her friend even as he sleeps eternal feels somewhat restorative, but it is short-lived as sadness overtakes her.

She sits back on her hands, turns her face to the skies and sighs in frustration. “Shit, Frost. After all that… all those years of telling me how good we’d be together… And you were right. You were _so_ right. If there were a way to – to, I dunno… breathe _life_ into you for five seconds and tell you one thing before you vanish… it’d be that.”

A familiar pressure constricts inside her chest and the tears come again. “I have the one thing I always wanted and I don’t know how I got here,” she mutters, sits forward again. Her chin rests low and her eyes are on the ground as she wipes wetness from her cheeks.

When she looks up to peer at Frost’s headstone once more, her eyes narrow, as if his name holds all the mysteries of the universe. “What am I supposed to do now?” she asks.

It is a simple question that she genuinely cannot answer.

* * *

“We got a new case,” she sighs, sounding relaxed and conversational.

It’s been around twenty minutes since she found him and her emotions have run their course. With her tears dried out, she feels a little better, but then it could just be the darkened silence providing a false sense of calm. She’s not entirely sure.

“A young woman was beaten and shot,” she states, bringing him up to speed. “Six-year old kid’s still missing but we’ll find her.” The repetitive nod she gives helps to cement the hopes of a positive outcome, aides her waning optimism.

“Korsak was too smart to take my fifty on the ex,” she snorts lightly, smiles into the dark, “The old man knows a sucker bet when he sees one.”

A shiver runs up her spine and she rubs her hands together, warming chilled palms. “You might have taken it,” she points, wags her index finger at his name, “Not because I’m wrong, but… maybe just for the fun of the game? You always did like to make people smile.”

She picks a handful of grass from beside her leg, tries to throw it in frustration but only manages to sprinkle it across her legs. “We had nothing to charge him on, so out he walks. Free to go about the rest of his day, all because we couldn’t keep him long enough for the results to prove I’m right.”

She breathes for a moment, brushes the grass from her pants. “You know how long those damn tests take, so now we’re gonna have to pick him up again. Damn waste of time… We had him! Not in cuffs,” she concedes with a tilt of her head, “but we had him.”

She sniffs, lets out a big sigh and breathes out frustration with it. She can do nothing about Charlie Mills right now. Best to let it go.

“Am I crazy for talking to you like this? Is this weird?” she asks, her brow all scrunched up. Talking to him in this way feels a little ridiculous. How is she supposed to get any answers from a corpse? Funny, since Maura would say ninety percent of their lives is about getting answers from corpses.

She looks around for a moment but her eyes are unfocused, her mind too busy with recollections of an earlier conversation. “Maura didn’t seem to think it was weird when I said -”

_Oh._

The full irony of her current activity hits her square in the chest and she barks a loud laugh. Because here she is, after all, talking to Frost.

And all of a sudden, that indecipherable look of Maura’s outside the crime scene this morning makes total sense.

The doctor hadn’t pointed out that Jane had said something strange because it wasn’t strange at all. Totally normal to mention wanting to talk to a dead man.

But Maura _was_ concerned.

She must have come here before. The old Jane. The one she’s forgotten. Must have talked to Frost in this exact same way. Maybe when times were tough, she muses, when she was struggling perhaps, or had problems to work through…

Man, she wishes she could remember.

The breeze picks up, blows the last of autumn’s surviving leaves from their trees, and she looks around wistfully. “You ever have one of those days you wish you could just rewind, y’know… start over?” Her eyes flick up to him and she scoffs, throws out a dismissive hand, “What am I saying, of course you do.”

Breezily, she continues, “I would rewind if I could. And not just today. Three days ought to do it. Just three days, that’s all.” She gives a little shrug, as if she’s not asking for much. “I’d go home instead of chasing down that dick. Wouldn’t get my head caved in. Wouldn’t wake up to find everything’s weird and you’re, well… here.”

It all sounds so simple in theory. Like she could retrace her steps and choose a different path. As easy as picking which doorway to walk through -

“Huh…”

It couldn’t be that simple, could it? It sure would explain a _lot_.

“Okay, it’s a crazy theory, but… I think I might have an idea.”

She drags herself up off the floor, dusts off her pants. “I know, I know,” she breathes, rolls her eyes because she can _see_ his folded arms and smirking face. “But what do I have to lose? I’m just going to check it out.”

She strides across the grass, presses flattened fingers to her lips and then to the top of his headstone. “I’ll let you know how it goes. Talk to you later, buddy.”

* * *

She knows what she looks like, curb crawling the back streets in the middle of the night. Not a pleasant image but a necessary one.

She thinks about the explanation she might give should she be pulled over but comes up empty. Law enforcement or not, her actions look odd. This time of night, this part of town… Any reason she could give would have to be a lie of course, anything to not sound crazy or raise suspicion.

Though if she’s honest, she has a tiny suspicion that she’s a little crazy.

Dark eyes search every alleyway out the driver’s window as she creeps along. Tries to locate the strange light source she had accidentally stumbled upon once before.

When she finds it, emanating just as strangely as the last time she can’t believe her eyes. As soon as the car screeches to a halt, her feet hit the pavement hard.

In her desperate search for answers, she runs toward the doorway, caution thrown to the wind. It is stupid and reckless and she just wants to know what happened, wants a satisfactory explanation for how her world got turned inside out overnight.

Squinting and blinking, the light is just as bright as she remembers, and with a tight grip over her holstered firearm, she raises a trembling right hand to the dazzling steel.

It’s a hasty move, ill thought out. Like a child needing to confirm their mother’s warning of a hot plate by burning their fingers. She knows she should wait, think it through, take some notes or photographs or catalog… something. Take stock and weigh the evidence. But she just needs to know.

The instant her fingertips try to touch the doorway she is pulled through the void, just as inexplicably as the first time. It yanks her with all the painful intensity of being dragged by a car. Feels like no force on earth could stop it as she is devoured once more by the light.

* * *

In actuality, she’s never been dragged by a car, and so she has no idea what it feels like. Can only guess and imagine it’s horrific.

But, as her eyes flicker open and her cognitive brain functions return, she knows enough now to decide this probably isn’t what it feels like after all.

The pain she’s in feels more like she died at the rodeo. As if somebody tethered her by the ankle to a raging 1500-pound bull. A monstrous beast that dragged her, flung her around like a ragdoll, stomped on her, and then dragged her some more.

“Holy fuck,” she wheezes, rolls over gingerly, arms clutched around her torso. It even hurts to breathe.

She isn’t lying in a puddle this time, which is a plus if you can call it that. It doesn’t seem like much of a positive considering she just woke up in a cold, dark alleyway feeling like someone beat her. Again.

Picking herself up, she notes several other similarities – the dirt caked on her coat and pants, the smell of trash and cigarettes that seems to cling to her hair and skin, the mystifying light that blinked out as if someone flicked a switch.

The overriding feelings of stupidity are pretty new.

Nothing looks any different. She doesn’t feel any different. The world didn’t spin the other way or tip upside down to her knowledge, so it’s a safe bet that she didn’t achieve anything here tonight. Thinking she could fix it this way was crazy to begin with.

“Nice going, Rizzoli,” she groans as she picks herself up. “Ow – shit! Y’know… doing a _really_ dumb thing _once_ is an accident…” She winces, feels the sting of having moved a little too fast. “Doing it _twice…_ just makes you a dumbass!”

It’s with a slow, hobbling limp that she heads back to her car.


	8. Chapter 8

When she wakes, she is alone in Maura’s bed.

Yawning, she rubs her hands over her face. Wipes the sleep from weary eyes as she sits up. It’s still dark out, but the bedside clock reads 06:05 and she grimaces.

She’s exhausted. But then it’s only been a few hours since she returned from the alleyway, having disturbed what could have been a full night of restful sleep by taking a jaunt in the middle of the night.

It’s almost time to get up for work, yet she reclines. Plumps her pillows and leans back against the headboard. Relishes in the soft warmth of expensive sheets and downy feathers. Just ten more minutes, she tells herself. But not for sleep.

Because the doorway to the adjoining bathroom is half-open, bathing a wide slice of carpet and duvet in warm light. Allowing from this angle a clear view of a very naked Maura as the blonde gets ready for the day.

So Jane watches. Torn.

She wants to remain here and just observe. But she also wants to leap from beneath the covers and sidle up behind the blonde, reenact yesterday evening with her naked Maura atop the vanity.

The former is enough though, she decides. Content to enjoy the view.

How lucky she is to be loved by such a beautiful woman. The thought swells her heart, makes her hopeful for the future.

“Good morning!” Maura sings when she slinks back into the bedroom a little later, disappointingly clothed in silk pajamas and sounding almost surprised that Jane is awake.

“G-Good morning,” she croaks, clears her raspy morning voice.

“I’m sorry if I woke you. I was trying to be quiet. Let you sleep a little more.”

“You didn’t,” she says, shares a sweet smile as the doctor crosses the room and disappears into the walk-in closet.

Maura continues, voice muffled by the dividing wall and racks of clothes that separate them. “That’s a relief. Getting as much unbroken sleep as possible is important, especially when you have nightmares,”

“I didn’t have a nightmare,” Jane mumbles, drags the duvet with her as she scoots across the bed. She’s not about to explain the real reason why she got up in the middle of the night.

With her brow scrunched hard, she tries and fails to locate the mess of clothes she remembers dumping on the floor last night. “Did you move my suit?” she calls.

Maura saunters out of the closet in a dress, blazer and heels. Finishes fastening an earring. “Isn’t it in the guest room where you left it?”

She scratches her head, looks around again. “I- um…” Why would she have been using the guest room?

The bed dips and she turns her face to find the blonde sat close. There’s a sympathetic pat to her bare leg where it sticks from beneath the covers.

“Just remember… you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Maura’s warm palm lingers, skims up and down smooth skin as warm hazel pitch up and down in concerned assessment. “But you don’t have to go about your day pretending it didn’t happen either. I’m here for you if you need anything.”

Taken aback, her eyebrows lift when Maura snickers a little laugh, nods toward her still sat in the middle of the bed. “I’d say anytime day or night, but clearly that part’s not an issue!”

There’s a smile on her face and she’s not sure why. Like she didn’t get the joke but it’s the polite thing to do. Or like mirroring Maura’s mood is just fast becoming her natural state.

Only as Maura stands and walks away does the smile drop off. Perturbed, her face sinks and she’s caught only two seconds later with her chin down, feeling all kinds of mixed up.

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” Maura gushes, “It was just a joke. And a terrible one at that. Forget I said anything.”

The bed dips again as Maura gathers up one of her hands and a gentle finger lifts her chin. “You _are_ welcome here, day _or_ night. My house, my bed, it makes no difference.”

The emotion in Maura’s eyes feeds her soul and she leans in, welcomes the hand that cups her cheek. “You’re my best friend. My family. You don’t have to creep in here in the middle of the night afraid of disturbing me, okay?”

“Okay,” she whispers, spellbound and wanting to kiss the lips that still move only inches from her face.

“And if you _don’t_ have a nightmare and you _still_ need to come in here in the middle of the night, that’s okay, too. We can talk… or _not_. Whatever you need.”

“Okay,” she whispers again, almost without thought.

Maura stands abruptly before she can close the distance. “Good!” the blonde chirps happily. “Now I have to be somewhere in ten minutes so I’ll see you later. Do you think you’ll be too busy for lunch?”

“I – er, I dunno. Depends what else we find on the Mills case.”

“Milson,” Maura states with a slight head tilt.

“Mills,” she says again, increasingly uncertain as the look on Maura’s face sows the seeds of doubt. It was Mills, wasn’t it?

With a sigh, Maura doubles down. “The case you started yesterday? The woman’s body I autopsied? It was Milson, Charlotte _Milson_. Not Mills.” The doctor moves about the room, deposits the last of her things into a large purse as she plows on. “Just imagine what would happen if I or the lab made that mistake. Entire cases might be ruined. Evidence would be thrown out. I put procedures in place the second I took office to ensure that could never happen. Crime lab standards are exponentially higher now than when Dr. Pike was in charge.”

“Uh-huh…” Jane mutters, distracted.

Maura stops cold. “What’s going on, Jane? Are you really feeling okay? I mean, besides the exhaustion, which is unfortunately very apparent from the dark color of your nasojugal folds - There are some affordable treatments available for that, by the way. I can give you the information if you’d like - But it’s really not like you to mix up cases, no matter how tired you are, so now you have me worried.”

“I – I’m fine, just… really, _really_ tired,” she professes dramatically. “Nothing a _huge_ mug of instant coffee can’t fix.”

“If you’re sure?”

“Go,” she insists with an eye roll, plasters on a grin and shoos the blonde away. “Go run your errand, or whatever it is you Medical Examiners get up to before dawn.”

“Oh, I’m going to try and meet Jack before his morning lecture,” Maura shrugs as if it’s no big deal, throws a grin over her shoulder on the way out. “Text me later about lunch.”

Trying to appear unaffected, Jane only manages another weak “Uh-huh,” in response. Aims for a smile but lands on a sneer.

Alone, she processes. Dissects their interaction and concludes something startling. This reality is exactly as she remembers from before that first hard knock to her skull.

“It worked?” she breathes, full of wonder. _Holy fucking shit._

The goddamn doorway and the blinding lights… That has to be it.

She didn’t imagine _anything_. She’s not crazy with grief or denial. There are no dreams, no nightmares. No concussion to reason it away.

And all those things she didn’t remember, well… they weren’t forgotten after all. Because they weren’t her memories to begin with. Like Frost being taken from them. Or Hoyt cutting Maura more than once.

Who knows what other twisted differences she might have stumbled upon had she stayed.

But now everything that was wrong is right again and, despite having no idea _how_ , or _why_ , it’s such a relief.

Everything is back exactly as she remembers.

Everything except Jack. She _had_ genuinely forgotten about him. And as she hears the front door snick closed downstairs, it feels like someone has thrown a bucket of ice-cold water over her.

With an angry huff she throws her upper body back down onto the bed. Double fists a pillow and plants it over her face. “It worked!” she yells, screams her frustration into Egyptian cotton. “Aaaggghhfuuuck!”

Maura was hers. For one single solitary day, Maura was hers, and it’s already ruined.

She throws off the pillow, slams it down over her thighs in a white knuckled grip. Welcomes the cool air on her face and lies in silence for long moments as her thoughts swirl.

Memories of Maura’s touch last night fill her with tingling heat. The caress of those lips… mmm. And later, the way the blonde had welcomed Jane’s arms around her, murmured acceptance and pleasure at the full-length press of Jane’s warm body as she slipped back under the covers…

Nightmares or not, why would _this_ Maura allow her to do that, and not even mention it if she’s with Jack?

Jane shudders at the notion that maybe Maura thought she _was_ Jack when she slipped into her bed last night. It’s not a visual she wants or needs swimming in her mind, wishes she could focus on something else, or wash her brain with bleach. Either option would work.

Even half asleep, wouldn’t Maura still sense a difference? The blonde had all but said she’d gone to sleep knowing Jane was staying over. Does that mean Maura’s response to her was genuine, intentional?

Maura is a devoted friend. That much has always been clear. But it feels like quite a stretch to imagine Maura might harbor some hidden desire for her now, might be burying a romantic yearning that can only be acknowledged under cover of darkness. Or under the covers, maybe.

She wonders if Maura knows of her feelings. If she’s been a little more obvious than she’d hoped over the years. Supposes if Maura wanted to test a suspicion, the doctor might do so assuming Jane would never want to talk about it.

Regardless, it’s all conjecture. Wishful thinking doesn’t get her anywhere. Maura has a boyfriend.

When the alarm sounds at 06:30, she shuts it off with a deep sigh. It’s time for her to face the day. And she hopes by the time she sees Maura again that there’s no residual _afterglow_ humming around the doctor. That particular sight would really sting.

She catches the feint sound of a text alert and finally rises. Pads through to the guest room in just her t-shirt and pants, finds her phone on the bedside table. It’s with a light chuckle she notes her crumpled suit now hangs neatly off the closet door, a freshly laundered tan suit that screams _wear me_ hangs right next to it. Maura is as subtle as a brick.

As she wakes her phone, flicks a fingertip over the screen, she can’t think of a sensible reason not to comply. That it will make Maura happy is beside the point.

A second message chimes and she barks a laugh as she notes the sender, cups a hand over her mouth to catch a sob that quickly follows. Both messages are from Frost.

\- _Meet me in BRIC as soon as you get here._

_\- p.s. It’s about the Milson case._

She types out a reply, wipes away a happy tear and gets ready in record time.

_\- On my way!_

* * *

A low whistle lights up her face as she swaggers into BRIC.

“Looking good, baby!” Frost teases, looks her up and down. “Well, apart from… this,” he adds, splays a hand and motions to her face.

“Shut. Up!” she snips with an eye roll and a smile. Despite copious coffee, there’s no hiding how tired she is. Makeup might have helped with the bags under her eyes, but she hadn’t wanted to waste any time. Wanted to see him as soon as possible. Make sure he was real.

He fingers the fabric of her suit jacket. Gives a slow, impressed nod, the corners of his mouth turned down. “This is a good color on you. Is it new?”

“Maura,” she offers with a shrug, as if that’s supposed to explain everything.

“Uh huh,” he responds with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, clearly not fooled by her false apathy.

She grimaces, grips the lapels and adjusts the jacket as if uncomfortable. “I think she had it altered.”

It’s nothing but an attempt to save face. In reality, she’s never owned a suit that fit so well. Like it was tailored for her exact body shape, designed specifically to suit her lifestyle. The difference between this suit and the one she wore yesterday is undeniable. Maura must have spent a fortune, she realizes, but she’s not complaining. It is glorious, like a second skin and she’ll die before she admits it.

Luckily, Frost lets her bullshit slide. “Mm-hm. The Doc has good taste,” is all he says, a twinkle in his eye that she knows is an unspoken comment about her hidden feelings.

“Whatever, man,” she tuts, rolls her eyes again. The Frost branch of the Isles Appreciation Society is clearly alive and well. “Listen… I didn’t sleep. It’s a long story. Don’t ask,” she dismisses bluntly before he can put voice to the frown he’s sporting. “I’ve got a killer headache, so do me a favor and recap everything we’ve got so far before you give me the new stuff, okay?”

“You bet!” he grins. Because it’s fun to be extra cheery when she’s crabby.

And even if she is doing her best to just _act_ the part today – forcing a scowl instead of squealing with joy at finding him alive and discovering her memories are genuine – they still know each other too well.

“Great,” she grumbles, stifles another smile. Waves a lazy hand at the screen as she plops down in a chair beside him. “Full case summary. Go.”


	9. Chapter 9

She fights the urge to stare, the urge to pinch him and check it’s not a dream. Reads as much as she can from the screen without tipping him off and sips her coffee as she follows along.

“The victim is Charlotte Milson. Dr. Isles said she’d been in the ground for twelve months before she was accidentally dug up beneath one of the test corpses at the body farm.”

She raises an eyebrow and murmurs, “Talk about the perfect place to dump her."

“Mm-hm,” he concurs absently, changes the screen with a couple of keystrokes. “Looks like death from strangulation, or maybe hanging, given the rope fibers on her neck.”

“Hanging victims are usually suicides,” she states with a deep frown. “Suicides don’t move themselves to the body farm afterwards. That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Right!” he exclaims, shakes his head. “Dr. Isles said the same thing. It’s weird. Maybe tox will show she was drugged or something.”

“Yeah,” she breathes, rolls a hand for him to continue recapping, as if this isn’t all brand new to her.

“The housecoat and slippers she was wearing are unremarkable, though Dr. Isles did say the housecoat manufacturer closed down in 2006 -”

“Trust Maura to know about the clothes - Who wears a ten year old housecoat anyway?” she challenges, her thoughts overlapping as she speaks them aloud. “Most young women don’t wear that. She’s dressed like my mother,” she says as she pulls an exaggerated face.

He laughs heartily at that, and she snickers. Glances around - as if it isn’t too late, the words having already left her mouth - to check Angela isn’t nearby. She’s made that mistake before. Whether it was bad luck or bad timing, either way she recalls getting a sharp clip to the ear for her trouble. This time, what her Ma doesn’t know won’t hurt.

“I matched her age and description to several women that went missing twelve months ago,” he continues, changes the screen again. “Charlotte’s sister provided enough information for Dr. Isles to ID her using dental records. Korsak said she was a mess when he met with her. Thought her sister was still alive all this time.

“That’s gotta be rough,” Jane murmurs into her coffee.

“Yeah. BPD _did_ investigate when she disappeared. Didn’t find anything odd though. Just said she’d given her notice at work, even gave the sister a copy of the resignation letter. She showed it to Korsak when he interviewed her.”

She looks back at the screen and finds a photo of a very serious man in a tweed jacket. The caption reads _Professor of Forensic Anthropology_ and she imagines he has a pompous attitude and an English accent.

“Dr. Carlson at the body farm was adamant he didn’t know how the body got there.” Frost points a finger at a large screen on the wall. Starts playing something that looks like CCTV. “He said the whole site was restricted access. But I _finally_ got through all the time-lapse footage from the security cameras. Noticed a couple of research students on there in between the wild animals.”

She watches the jumpy images, sees a young man enter the corner of the frame. “So people _do_ have access!”

He nods emphatically. “I’m waiting for him to send over a list of all the people that could have been in and out of there in the last year.”

Jane’s eyebrows shoot up, “Wow. Bet he loves you.”

“You ever get the feeling you’ve just ruined someone’s day?” Frost chuckles.

He’s not sorry and she can’t blame him. Sounds like ‘pompous’ wasn’t far off the mark. They don’t take pleasure in being difficult or demanding during investigations, but they come across obstructive witnesses such as Dr. Carlson far too often.

Grinning, she says, “He’s a professor… typically they’re -” _Obstinate? Crabby? Bad mannered?_ She has an idea but she can’t finish it, just shrugs and wrinkles her nose instead as her thoughts flicker to Jack. If she’s honest, he’s none of the stereotypical things she’d associate with a stuffy professor.

She should like him. But she can’t.

“He’s a dick,” Frost blurts and she smiles, loves his directness. “But it’s a lead. When I get the list, I’ll background check everyone.”

“Okay, well…” she sighs, calm and assured, now fully up-to-speed. “I guess just… let me know what you find out. I’ll check VICAP for staged suicides. See if any other cases match ours.”

* * *

They’re no further along when lunchtime rolls around.

She asks Frost if he wants to go with her to meet Maura at the Dirty Robber, but he declines. So she heads out alone.

It would have been nice to have him there, she thinks. After the emotional upheaval of yesterday’s ‘death’ bombshell and all. She likes spending time with him, and he’d be a pleasant distraction.

On the other hand, she muses as she ducks inside the doorway, she does get the beautiful doctor all to herself for an hour or two. In that respect, she’s quite happy to forgo any distractions.

Their eyes meet the instant she enters, and the way Maura watches her walk toward the booth heats her blood. It doesn’t take much to exaggerate her swagger just a little, slow down just a touch. Drag it out. Make it last. Whatever this is.

The suit has something to do with it, she guesses. Maura’s smile is teasing, sultry maybe, and just a tiny bit smug. Pleased with herself no doubt, for picking it out. Pleased that Jane wore it without arguing. She knows it looks good, that _she_ looks good, and Maura seems to be enjoying the view.

It’s all she can do to keep her eyes up, feels unusually shy and a little off balance. But she figures if Maura can be brazen in her _appreciation_ then she can, too. And so she lets herself look, flutters long eyelashes and uses a sultry smile of her own as confident strides carry her closer.

The last step brings her right up to the booth. Brings her eyes past the tall wooden partition that backs the seat on this side of the table.

“I hope you don’t mind…” Maura begins, as she leans forward against the table’s edge, straining the scooped neckline of her dress in ways that Jane doesn’t mind at all.

But then an outstretched hand brings her attention to the man sat opposite. And her face falls as Maura finishes, “… I asked Jack to join us for lunch.”

“Jack!” she squeaks, plasters on grin she knows is painfully unconvincing. “Hi.”

“Hi, Jane,” he half smiles, gives a feeble wave.

“What a …surprise,” she husks, her voice a dry scratchy laugh. Curses her treacherous brain for almost inserting the word _nice_.

The next five seconds are long and uncomfortable, as she stands beside the booth, nervous hands clasped below her belt buckle. She could sit down next to Jack, opposite her friend as would be the norm, or she could sit next to -

“Sit, sit!” Maura rushes her, and the decision is made.

She swallows hard as she scoots in next to the blonde. _Well this isn’t awkward._

“Let’s order before it gets any busier,” Maura suggests brightly. Puts a hand firmly on her thigh in the process of leaning across to get a server’s attention.

With the doctor’s lips mere inches from her face, the realization that the first option would have been much less torturous is instantaneous. It fizzes through her system, lights her nerves up like a stun gun. Makes her want to scream internally.

“What would you like to drink?” Maura asks, still so, so close and Jane tries not to squirm. Tries to return Jack’s naïve and friendly smile and oh god he’s going to be looking right at her the entire time. It’s hard to imagine a more uncomfortable scenario.

“Jane?” Maura nudges.

“Hm?” Her face snaps around and she realizes she hasn’t responded to the question. Notices two drinks already on the table that they must have ordered before she arrived. “Water,” she croaks, coughs to clear her throat. Calls, “Water please!” to the passing server and hears how frazzled she sounds.

Maura passes out the large food menus and sits back. Grants her some relief as she unfolds it. At least she can hide her reddening face now.

But then the blonde leans in again, ducks behind. Hides them both from Jack with two menus now butted together. “You seemed a little off this morning,” she whispers theatrically. “Are you feeling better?”

“I’m fine,” she says, eyes firmly on the menu.

“Are you sure? You can tell me if anything’s bothering you -”

“Honest,” she breathes, hates herself as she turns and smiles, “I’m perfect.” A reassuring wink seals the deal. _I promise._

She may have her life back the way it was, but _this_ life, she realizes – and this situation in particular – is a fresh kind of hell.

Only once Maura moves away again can she relax, _her_ face alone hidden behind the food menu. The last forced smile pained her, so it’s a relief to allow it to drop off. Sadly, she notes, her legendary appetite seems to have vanished, too.

_Somebody kill me._

* * *

When she swaggers into the crime lab fifteen minutes later, she makes a beeline for Maura’s Senior Criminalist. “What’s up, Chang?” she hollers as she strides up behind the woman, enjoys watching the shoulders of a bright white lab coat flinch in surprise.

“Detective Rizzoli,” Susie smiles, adjusts her glasses as she turns around. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon. Dr. Isles said you were going out to lunch.”

“I rushed back,” she shrugs, hooks her thumbs behind her belt buckle and bounces up on her toes. “This case won’t solve itself.” Her excitement is genuine; she lives for results that can move a case forward. As it happens, the opportunity to ditch Maura and Jack was also too good to pass up.

“Well, we got the tox screen back for Charlotte Milson,” Susie informs her, retrieves a printed report.

“And I have a feeling she wasn't clean…” Jane guesses with a squint.

Susie hands her the page. “Your victim had low levels of the tranquilizer ketamine in her system. This kind of low dose would allow the victim to function, but be easily controlled.”

“That would play into how she was killed,” she notes.

“It would also explain why the hanging looked more like a suicide than a violent murder at first.”

“So now we know _how_. We just don’t know _why_ … or _who_ … yet,” she adds after a pause. “I gotta go. Thank you for this,” she says, waves the report in the air as she heads out.

“You’re welcome, Detective.”

* * *

She finds Frost sitting back at his own desk when she returns to the bullpen. He’s as happy as a lamb. Face beaming as she approaches and that can only mean good news.

But her face pales as she spots a familiar action figure sitting on his desk. “Hey, where’d that doll come from?”

“Action figure!” he tuts. Picks up the toy and moves one of the arms so it waves at her from in front of his face. “Guardian Chogokin is mine now. Frankie lost a bet. Why?”

“Oh, no reason,” she dismisses. Wonders how on earth such silly items can end up having a heart-stopping amount of sentimental value. “Susie confirmed Charlotte was drugged,” she informs him. Gets herself back on track as she slides the report into the case file on her desk and reclines into her chair.

“Not a suicide,” he states with a sweeping turn of his head. Grins at her and Korsak in turn, as if they didn’t even need the confirmation.

“Nope,” she chirps. Flicks her chin up in his direction. “Get anything from that list of people with access?”

“I researched everyone,” he explains, animated and excited. “Students, professors, groundskeepers, vendors. And I found a former grad student who was responsible for locking up at night.” He leans in, stabs an index finger down onto a file folder of his own as he continues. “About a year ago, he was at the body farm late one night doing some field research. And then he runs into Professor Carlson, who was all dirty and agitated, right? Carlson yells at the guy, tells him to get out, the place is closed.”

“Right around the time the body goes into the ground,” she grumbles. Scowls at the thought as she leans forward, mirrors his hunched shoulders. “No wonder he wasn’t very cooperative.”

“He didn't want to go to jail.” “All right, well, I'm not going to the dead zone,” she sighs. Reclines again. “Have the professor brought in. And let’s hope he’s a bit more cooperative today.”

* * *

“Have a seat, Dr. Carlson,” Jane says, pulls out a metal chair of her own as Frost sits beside her.

For long moments, the stony-faced man stands stiffly on the opposite side of the table. No doubt still sore about the way in which he was abruptly escorted from his day job to the police station.

But they wait in silence. Stare up at him until he gives in, plops heavily into a seat like a petulant child removed from playtime for bad behavior.

She nods at Frost to take the lead, since it was his discovery that got them here.

“We have a witness that puts you at the body farm right around the time our victim was buried there,” he informs the man. “You can help yourself if you tell us the truth. Is there anything you would like to say about that night?”

Dr. Carlson lets out a heavy sigh, then murmurs, “I _was_ there.” “Doing what?” Frost pushes.

“The university hired me to take over the body farm operation, clean it up. That night I was making my rounds. I discovered some fresh dirt and what looked like wheel marks leading away from it. I thought maybe someone had removed one of the research corpses, hauled the body off with a dolly. I figured it was just a college prank, or some sort of fraternity hazing.”

“Our witness said you were agitated and dirty.”

“Well, of course I was agitated,” the professor snips. “I was brought here to make sure things like this didn't happen.”

Jane squints as she catches his omission. “That doesn't explain why you were covered with dirt.”

Dr. Carlson sighs again, throws his hands up. “I had looked around to see where the body might have been taken from. A couple of the research corpses are buried under trash piles. I moved it to make sure they weren’t missing.”

“And you didn't explain any of this to the university?” she asks as her eyebrows lift, shakes her head in disbelief. As wild as the story is, they can’t discount it. Not when they have no evidence to the contrary.

“No,” he insists. “There was no reason to. All the bodies were present and accounted for, so I decided that what I'd seen didn't matter.”

“Okay,” Jane huffs, leaves a grand pause while she folds her arms, sinks a little in her chair. “Let me get this straight… You want us to believe what _actually_ happened that night… is someone _else_ buried a murder victim beneath one of your research corpses?”

“Yes.”

One look at Frost is enough to confirm he’s thinking pretty much the same thing.

_Looks like we’re back to square one._


	10. Chapter 10

It’s been a couple of hours since Dr. Carlson’s interview proved to be a bust.

Despite disliking the man, she and Frost were convinced he was telling the truth. And unable to disprove his ridiculous story, they had sent him on his way.

Frost had disappeared back into BRIC afterwards, swearing up and down that he was going to find another clue if it killed him. And she’s been, well… mostly staring off into space.

“Everything okay?” Korsak enquires from behind his desk.

“Just thinking about this case,” she breathes as she swivels her chair to face him. Decides to give voice to the developing theory that swirls in her mind. Use Korsak as a sounding board. “What if there's a psychological element at play here? The housecoat and slippers feel like part of a fantasy, you know. Like he forced her to wear them. Tried to create a nice domestic life for himself. She could have broken the fantasy.”

He gives her a nod, confirms the plausibility of her theory. “She does something that upsets him, he snaps, he hangs her.”

And spelled out like that, in his typical no-nonsense way, it feels like no other theory would fit so well.

“It is textbook psychopathic behavior,” she crows, levels a hand at her computer. “But I couldn’t find any similar cases in VICAP. Maybe that was his first and only attempt to fulfil his fantasy. We know _something_ went wrong because he killed her.”

Korsak doesn’t get a chance to respond because Frost comes dashing out of BRIC, screeches to a halt between their desks. “I just found a woman who went missing _last week_ that matches the physical profile of our first victim. I think we should check it out!”

She glances at Korsak, gets a stiff nod of approval before she turns back to her partner. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Stay optimistic, she reminds herself, as they collect their keys and jackets. Ignoring the sense that, without anything else to go on at this point, they might well be just clutching at straws.

* * *

With a graceful sidestep, she allows a waitress carrying a huge tray of food to pass as she approaches the bar. The delicious smell assaults her nostrils. Makes her stomach grumble. And she tries not to drool at the sight of juicy burgers with all the trimmings.

It’s been a while since she fled from her barely-touched lunch and she curses under her breath. Manages to drag her eyes from the food and comes to a stop beside Frost. Promises her gurgling belly a hearty dinner whenever she makes it home.

“Why did you report Sarah Harrison missing?” Frost asks the restaurant manager.

“Well, Sarah didn't show up to work for two days,” the man explains, “and when I called to check on her, her phone was disconnected. But I shouldn't have made the report. It was all a big mistake.”

Jane frowns, confused. “She came back to work?”

“No,” he insists with a headshake, gives a small shrug. “But I got her letter of resignation in the mail a day later.”

Her eyebrows shoot up at the coincidence. “Do you still have that letter?” she asks, gets a firm nod in return. “Could I see it?”

He reaches under the bar, drags up and flicks through a messy pile of paperwork as she reaches for her phone. She uses the speed dial and turns, sees Frost’s face has clouded over with the same dreaded suspicion she feels brewing in her gut.

“Korsak!” she rushes when he picks up, mouths a thank you as the manager hands over a piece of paper. Her eyes rush over the words and her stomach drops as she says, “Do you still have Charlotte Milson’s letter of resignation that her sister gave you?”

_“Sure. I have it right here.”_

She lowers the phone, flicks it onto speakerphone for Frost’s benefit. “Can you read it to me?”

_“Yeah. Uh… ‘Dear Mr. Phillips, I regret to inform you that I am resigning from my position at Barney’s Diner, effective immediately. Thank you for the support and the amazing opportunities you've provided me –‘”_

“’- I have enjoyed my time with the company so much, but I've decided to leave Boston.’”

_“Wait. How did you know that?”_

She looks up from the letter, regards Frost with his hands on his hips as he gives her a resigned headshake. They’re already too late.

“Because our killer wrote both letters. And it looks like he took Sarah Harrison.”

* * *

It’s just before 9pm. A bullpen full of empty desks surround them and most of the lights are out, as if they need the extra contrast to tell them exactly how late it is.

“Forget this!” Frost snaps all of a sudden, shoves his keyboard across the desk. “We’re going round in circles.”

“Go home,” she yawns, plants her elbows on the desk and rubs hands over her tired face. Lack of sleep is fast catching up with her. But she’d put money on him feeling just as tired, having worked two full days on this case compared to her one.

“I don’t get it… What did we miss?”

The missing link. That something - or _someone_ \- that connects Charlotte Milson to Sarah Harrison.

They have the almost identical resignation letters but there’s something else. She _knows_ it exists. It _has_ to exist. But they’ve driven themselves crazy for the last few hours, and come up empty.

She shrugs, shakes her head. Feels the frustration they share. “I honestly don’t know. Just… go get some rest.” Easier said than done, she knows, given that they have another missing girl. “Tomorrow, we - we start over. Give it fresh eyes.”

As far as suggestions go, it’s pretty poor. Sounds lame to her own ears. Obvious.

She has the same niggling feeling that he does. That the clue they are desperate for lies buried somewhere in their case file. But she started losing the will to work over an hour ago. Would fall asleep in a heartbeat if she put her head down on the desk.

He stands abruptly, growls as he pushes in his chair. Grumbles as he shucks on his suit jacket, “This better not turn into a damn cold case.”

“It won’t,” she smiles kindly, tips her head back to look up at him as he moves around to her side of the desk. “We’ll find her,” she promises.

“You going home?”

“Right behind you,” she nods, flicks off her monitor to prove the point.

“No, I meant…” he pauses, pins her with a look, “are you going _home_?”

“Aw, man,” she huffs. Whines, “Are you _ever_ gonna let that go?”

“Nope,” he chuckles as he turns and walks away. “Not while I’m alive to see how you look at her.”

She feels her face pale, grateful that he can’t see it. Steadies herself with a deep breath. “And I told you a long time ago, it doesn’t _matter_ how I look at her. If -”

“Psh,” he scoffs, waves a dismissive hand behind him. Raises his voice so that it echoes across the bullpen. “Keep telling yourself that.” His tone brighter than both the room and her mood. “Have a nice night!”

“Frost?” she calls without thinking, makes him turn at the door.

“Yeah?” he frowns when she doesn’t speak.

She smiles, tilts her head in a way that says _thank you_. “You’re a good friend, you know that?”

His blinding grin warms her insides before he ducks through the doorway. “See you tomorrow, Jane.”

“Yeah,” she breathes, the noise barely a word. Watches him disappear down the hall, lets her eyebrows fall together in a frown. “Maybe.”

She turns back to her desk, flicks on the monitor. Changes the screen with one click of her mouse and stares at a pop up message.

It’s a search result. The same quick search she ran earlier, ten times today in fact. Just wanting to be sure.

But, as she sags back into her chair with a heavy sigh, it provides little relief. Just an empty, nagging feeling that bubbles away in the pit of her stomach.

_~ Kelsey Mills: Case Not Found_

* * *

She strides barefoot from the bedroom wearing her scraggliest sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt. Grabs a beer from the fridge. Finds her pizza still pleasantly warm in its box on the coffee table where she left it.

Just like the rest of her apartment, actually. There’s a closet full of clean clothes where several freshly laundered suits hang covered in Maura’s brand of dry cleaning bags. And any mess consists only of her own belongings, nothing of Frankie’s.

It’s all just the way she left it. And it provides relief and confirmation. She doesn’t need a brain scan, but she has somehow stumbled upon another reality. An alternate universe. And, weirdly, she has inhabited both.

With a huge sigh and one leg curled beneath her, she settles into the couch and flicks on the TV.

She’s tired and physically sore. Has more bruises on her skin now than were visible this morning. Rubs at the remainder of the tender, shrunken lump on the back of her head.

Crossing over clearly isn’t free. Like needing a coin for the ferryman. And even though she remembers it hurt like a son of a bitch, she considers it a small price to pay for what she found on the other side.

Leaning forward, she swipes a piece of pizza. Closes her eyes and moans in pleasure as she fills her mouth. It feels like a lifetime since she ate. A decade since she swore she’d fill her stomach.

It is delicious, and she finishes the first piece in short order. Is about to pick up a second when her cellphone starts to ring.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” she groans. Drops her head back and curses silently to the heavens. At whoever or whatever made the universe conspire against her today.

But Maura’s ID is flashing on the screen when she picks it up and she deflates just as quickly as she blew up.

“Hey, Maura. What’s up?”

_“Hi, Jane!”_

“Ma?” She checks the screen again. “Why are you calling me on Maura’s phone?”

_“Oh, well… I seem to have misplaced mine -”_

“Mm-hm,” Jane murmurs, unconvinced. Her mother is a smart woman. Smart enough to know that Jane is more likely to pick up the phone to Maura. The only reasons she doesn’t address the manipulation is because she just wants to wind down.

_“Are you doing okay honey? I haven’t seen you in a few days.”_

“Yeah, I’m good.”

_“Are you eating enough? Maura mentioned you skipped lunch. I can bring you some lasagna or -”_

“No, no. Don’t do that,” she rushes, frowning at the thought of Maura discussing her behavior. “Thank you, though… I’m trying to eat dinner right now actually,” she hints. A comment that flies right over Angela’s head, oblivious to the irony that is her ill-timed phone call. “Is Maura there?”

_“No, she’s upstairs meditating… I think she misses you.”_

She scoffs, wonders where the hell that thought came from. “You can’t miss someone you see every day,” she reasons, trying to convince herself as well as Angela perhaps. “And I stayed over there last night.”

_“I know, but -”_

She cuts her mother off with a sigh. “Not to mention she has Jack. People don’t want their friends hanging around when they could be…" It’s not a thought she wants to complete.

_“He’s not there half as much as you think he is y’know. Keeps cancelling their -”_

“I don’t need to know,” she cuts in, firm and final. Rubs her fingertips hard into her temple. “Leave Maura’s private life alone, Ma. It’s not our - _your_ business.”

_“Mm-hm… If you say so.”_

The way Angela murmurs sounds familiar. Sounds just as unconvinced as _she_ did over the missing phone. It’s unsettling.

Jane has always had a need to know, felt a push to dig for answers. It’s a part of her nature. She’s a born investigator for a reason. And though she might call that same trait ‘nosey’ in others – or in her mother specifically – she can’t deny that at their root they share the same deep curiosity.

Damn genetics.

“I promise I won’t skip lunch tomorrow, okay?” she offers, moves onto a subject that is much safer ground. “I’ll even come and eat in the café if I get chance.”

_“I’ll hold you to that, Janie.”_

“I know you will,” she chuckles, expects to have her whereabouts checked by mid-morning at least. “Goodnight, Ma.”

_“Night, honey. I love you.”_

“I love you, too,” she says and promptly ends the call, unable to account for the burgeoning tears she can feel welling up. “Well, shit,” she breathes, sniffs sharply before tucking into another slice of pizza.

If she was hoping to get through the rest of the night without thinking about Maura – not just _this_ Maura, but _her_ Maura, too - it is effectively ruined now. As is the pizza, which she dumps back into the box. Stone cold thank you very much.

Trust Angela to mention Jack, to speculate about Maura missing her, as if that would make her feel better. As if she’s not torn up enough already.

It’s part of the reason she stopped going over there so much, stopped accepting Maura’s invitations before all this portal-to-another-dimension nonsense happened. Nobody likes being a third wheel.

She gets up in a huff, retrieves a plate from the kitchen and loads it up with pizza. Slumps against the kitchen countertop as she slams the microwave door shut. Lets her head fall back against the wall cabinet with a clunk and a wince as she waits for it to reheat.

The fact is _this_ life comes complete with unrequited love. And despite whatever Angela thinks she knows, however misguided she might consider Jane’s choice to take a backseat, she’ll have to accept it. Just like Jane accepted it a long time ago.

Except…

She pulls her head forward. Mulls it over with a tightly scrunched brow.

An alternative exists. Or it did. Is it still there? Could she - _should_ she go through again?

The microwave pings and she slides the plate onto the breakfast bar. Retrieves her beer from the coffee table and her phone from the couch.

She could go through, go get _her_ Maura back. It doesn’t seem like it would cause any harm. So, she sneaks around a little in the middle of the night. So what? Nobody needs to know.

But she does need to know what she’s dealing with, and so she makes another trip around the couch, brings her sleeping laptop over from the armchair and sets it up next to her plate. Pulls up a stool and grabs a slice.

There doesn’t appear to be a clear place to start and, anticipating a lengthy research session, she sets her phone alarm for 3am. Whether to ensure sleep, or to try and catch the doorway again, she’s undecided.

She sucks the grease from her fingers, still manages to smear a shiny residue on the keys as she types.

‘Alternate Reality’ returns almost 8,000,000 results, and she exhales a lungful of air at the screen with her eyebrows high and her cheeks puffed out.

Definitions. Movie synopses. News articles. Scientific Papers.

The amount of information to trawl through is overwhelming. But she simply downs her beer, rolls up her sleeves, and wades right in.


	11. Chapter 11

Alternate realities or ‘parallel universes’ - which she’s discovered are considered basically the same thing - are talked about only in theory for the most part. As a facet of fiction, or game playing. Relegated to rumors and conspiracies. Used to explain the sudden disappearance of mid-flight passenger jets, or ships in the Bermuda Triangle. All kinds of oddities.

As she’d surfed, title after title had looked promising. Articles that implied her answers lay within, which in fact only contained ridiculous, time-wasting metaphors.

Pieces about how walking into New York’s latest Apple store was like entering a _fourth dimension_. Or how Putin’s twisted worldview was akin to him living in a _parallel universe_. They misled and frustrated as they buried her beneath a mountain of useless information.

But then she’d happened upon something… _Ten Compelling Pieces of Evidence That Prove Alternate Realities Exist_. An article that she read in full, twice. Because actually, despite some almost insurmountable scientific language, which she’d needed Google to define and which she’d read out loud in the best Dr. Isles voice she could manage, it _was_ _very_ compelling. It felt like the closest she was ever going to get to understanding what was happening.

And yet, none of the ten matched the evidence before her right now.

The doorway of light. Blazing once more, like the sun’s come early, though it seems to hurt her eyes a little less this time.

She’d reasoned away every objection to doing this again on the drive over.

It’s not cheating. Not when she’s single here and there’s no Jack on the other side.

Deception isn’t a factor. She’s still Jane Rizzoli after all. She isn’t inhabiting somebody else, isn’t concealing her true identity. If she were, she’d be worried about consent. But she knows what they have is consensual, and smiles to herself as she replays the other Maura saying _I love you_. First with her words and again with her body.

It’s not taking advantage, unless you count it as an opportunity for happiness. Who wouldn’t want to grab that with both hands? She wants to reach out and take it. Reach out and…

She can feel it pulling, tugging her arm and then her whole body as her fingertips get closer to the light. She tries to resist, fights the drag as much as her strength will allow. It doesn’t pull her through in an instant like it had the last time. Gives her a second or two to feel the pounding start in her head, to watch her hand dissolve before a painful yank tears her from her rightful home.

* * *

She slips beneath the sheets. Presses her underwear-covered front to Maura’s naked back and wraps an arm around the woman’s waist.

“Mm-where’ve you been?” the blonde murmurs, voice deep and husky from slumber.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she whispers, plants a kiss to Maura’s shoulder blade.

It’s not quite a lie, though it doesn’t prevent a tiny pang of guilt deep down. Having cleaned both herself and her dirt smeared sweats in the guest bathroom, she knows what finding them in the morning will suggest to Maura. That she went for a run or worked out in the middle of the night. And though it wasn’t premeditated, it will be a fortunate and harmless assumption for the doctor to make if she discovers them in a few hours.

Skimming a hand over Jane’s, Maura pulls her closer, hugs the arm around her more tightly. Hums, “Missed you,” and pushes shapely hips backwards.

The words generate a lump in Jane’s throat and she presses another lingering kiss to Maura’s skin in lieu of trying to speak.

Only hours ago she had scoffed at Angela for suggesting such a thing. Thought it a ridiculous notion. And yet, lying here, she hears the words for herself, feels them hit her square in the chest. Wonders if it could be true. Wonders how long she’s been gone.

“I’m here,” she croaks, rolls her pelvis toward firm buttocks as Maura leads her hand onto a soft breast.

Encouraged, she fondles the flesh beneath her hot palm. Pinches and strokes a hardening nipple until Maura’s breath hitches. “Jane -”

Already wet between her own legs, she retreats for a moment. Feels Maura roll onto her back beside her as she removes her pants and sports bra.

Reaching and needy, Maura’s hands guide her as she moves. Direct her as she plants an elbow into the mattress, as she lifts, turns, and settles her body gently atop the blonde. Nestles her thigh between parted legs. Sighs at the slippery warmth found there just for her and moans as her lips meet Maura’s waiting mouth.

“I’m right here.”

* * *

“Yo, Jimmie Johnson! Was there a race nobody told me about?” She shucks a thumb over her shoulder as she stomps into Maura’s office the next morning carrying a large takeout coffee. “You left tire marks back there!”

“Really?” Maura squeaks, her face alight with surprise and the glow from her laptop.

“Rea – No!” she exclaims, amused that this worldly woman is still so gullible sometimes. “It’s a Prius,” she chuckles as she takes a seat. “You’re in no danger of winning a drag race anytime soon. But, still… is there a _reason_ why you left Joe’s like someone was chasing you?”

“Test results!” Maura declares. Starts to explain but seems to think better of it half way through. “I wanted to… um… review them, you know, before you… um -”

“Before I got here,” Jane supplies, schools a serious expression.

Maura stutters, shakes her head as she retrieves a folder, “No. I-I just thought -”

She knows exactly what Maura thought. Can clearly see the panic in hazel eyes, the worry that admitting it might cause offense. It wouldn’t, so she offers a smirk and raises a teasing eyebrow. Tries not to be the huge ass that this _other_ Jane clearly was. “You thought it would be easier to do that without me hovering over you?”

“Of course not!” Maura scoffs, moves out from behind the desk and heads for the couch. “I just thought I could… in case it was… you know, but it wasn’t, so…”

Maura circles the coffee table and hands off the folder. Takes a seat and sighs hard. Scratches at the redness on her neck on the way up to adjust an earring.

Jane catches the move in her periphery and snickers. Covers it with a fist pressed to her mouth as she swallows the last of her coffee. She has to give Maura credit, for wanting to ensure she wasn’t walking in to bad news this morning. And then for trying so hard to recover from her admission.

“It’s okay,” she purrs, hopes the doctor’s hives don’t take too long to clear up. Pointing at the folder of results laid out on the coffee table and, despite needing little help, she adds, “Come here. Why don’t you translate this for me?”

“Charlie Mills,” Maura states as she scoots closer. Quickens Jane’s heart for two reasons at once.

“We recovered his DNA from Rebecca Mill’s body,” Maura says, provides a pause that Jane uses to nod her understanding.

They’ve got him.

“GSR analysis matched particles found on Rebecca’s body to some found inside a wooden box that was recovered from the scene. Both samples likely came from a 9mm cartridge, make unknown. Coupled with some unusual indentations in the box lining, it was suspected to have housed a handgun.”

Jane frowns. “They found a gun case?”

“No, not a gun case,” Maura explains, hands gesturing as she speaks. “Far more ornate than that. Like a – a large carved jewelry box. Padded and lined with high quality silk. Sadly, there’s no way to know for sure if it was your murder weapon.”

“Doesn’t sound like something your average guy would keep his gun in,” she mutters as her thoughts race, her mind skipping back through all the facts. “Charlie reported his gun stolen. But I have a feeling he knew who took it.”

“What do you mean?”

“When we interviewed him, he said Rebecca was always trying to take things that she wasn’t entitled to. The way he said it… it could have been about more than just money.”

Maura leans down, elbows propped on her thighs. “You think _Rebecca_ stole his gun?”

“I’m not saying she _stole_ it. But what if she _kept_ it when she kicked him out? Might count as stealing to him. He could have filed a report on principle, he seemed angry enough. And people just don’t take guns in cases, or _ornate jewelry boxes_ to crime scenes. I think he beat her, she pulled the gun out, something went wrong, and he shot her.”

Maura gives a small shrug. “It does all seem to fit.” Graces Jane with a proud smile.

“Well, I should go,” she says, cheery and pleased that the evidence corroborates her original theory. She scoops up the file, rises and heads for the doorway. “Me and Frost need to pick up Charlie Mills. I just hope he hasn’t skipped town -”

“Korsak.”

“Hm?”

“You said _Frost_ ,” Maura explains, rising to catch up. “You and Frost. But you meant Korsak.”

She slips a hand beneath her hair, scratches the unease that itches up the back of her neck. Is this how Maura feels when the hives hit? “I said Fro – Ha! That’s fu – my mind…” She circles her index finger by her temple. “Got a little messed up there for a sec - Of course I meant Korsak,” she rushes, feels a blush coat her cheeks even as she tries to remain nonchalant.

Maura steps in, quietly admits, “It happens to me, too, sometimes.” Comforts Jane with hands that trail up the length of her arms. Leans in until their foreheads are almost touching. “And it’s okay to talk about him.”

She can tell Maura is worried about her. Can’t tell her she’s worried for nothing. Can see the pain of real grief on Maura’s face. Can’t admit she just saw Frost yesterday.

“I know,” she husks instead as she closes the gap. Cupping Maura’s face, she traces a freckled cheek with her thumb. Feels tears develop as she hears Maura’s voice break.

“I miss him, too. Just promise me you’re doing okay,” the blonde begs, eyes turned down and palms pressed flat to Jane’s chest.

She lifts Maura’s face. Slides her fingers into thick waves of honeyed blonde. Kisses Maura as if it’s the last time. Tries to sear her vow onto soft, pink lips. “I’m okay. I promise.”

Wrapping the blonde up in a strong, supportive hug, she comforts Maura for several minutes. Rubs circles on her back until she’s sure Maura’s tears have dried, and the black cloud of sadness that hangs over them has dissipated.

Maura flashes a crooked smile when they release each other. “Sorry,” the blonde says, hiccupping a little laugh and earning a headshake. “You should go. Go on. I’m fine.”

With a swift pat to her butt, Jane is shooed further towards the doorway. She turns and leans against the frame as Maura heads back behind the desk. “Wanna meet me in the café for lunch?” she asks, eager to kill two birds with one stone.

“Text me when you get back,” Maura nods, smiles and drops her attention back to the laptop as Jane moves out of the room.

When she rushes back into the doorway a couple of seconds later Maura jumps a little in surprise. “Just out of interest…” she says, with a sudden urge to sate her curiosity. “Did you ever teach those Forensic Science classes at the college like they asked you to?”

Drawing her chin back, Maura scrunches her brow. “Um, no. If memory serves that was the week you were sick and I -” The blonde draws her shoulders up while she seems to weigh her words. “I… I cancelled.”

When Maura shrugs, as if blowing off such a huge honor was no big deal, Jane’s jaw drops a little. “Oh.”

She remembers being sick and being taken care of that weekend. Remembers being what Angela had called _a needy, whiny pain in the ass_ as her mother had flounced back out to the guesthouse. Remembers feeling a tiny bit guilty, but not enough to stop her from secretly enjoying every second of Maura’s attentiveness.

She recalls the following Monday morning specifically. Stubbornly refusing yet more of Maura’s care, and physically hustling the blonde out of her own home to go and teach her very first class. _Go get ‘em_ , she’d rallied, realizing how selfish she’d been up until that point. And despite Maura’s nerves, she’d believed it was all for the doctor’s own good.

It’s easy now to interpret Maura’s pause, to hear the unspoken words. To read the sentiment that is written all over that beautiful face. _You were sick and I_ … _I just wanted to take care of you_.

“ _Oh,_ ” she drawls, with a tilt of her head as everything becomes clear.

Of course, there’s always a chance that she could be wrong. But maybe in this life that’s all it took to change the course of their relationship.

Perhaps it was just one tiny drop of selfishness on her part. _Please stay_ , she might have begged. Or perhaps apathy was to blame. _Don’t go if you don’t want to go_ , she might have shrugged. But regardless of the minor details, in this life, clearly the outcome has been very different.

“That was months ago,” Maura adds, still frowning. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh. No reason,” she lies, bids another farewell and grins as she strides away.

She couldn’t forget that Monday if she tried. Because that was the day that Maura met Jack.


	12. Chapter 12

Voices call left and right as they move through the house.

“Clear!”

“CLEAR!”

Pistol drawn and heart galloping, she leaves the swarm of uniformed bodies to race up the stairs. Takes point ahead of Korsak as the older man catches up.

Across the landing, she pauses beside the only locked door. Steadies her breath as his shoulder comes to rest heavily against the doorframe opposite. One little nod from him is all she needs to confirm he’ll cover her ass as she barges foot first into the unknown.

“Ready?” she mouths, earns another nod before she steps back and delivers a swift kick, splintering wood from metal with an almighty crack.

She sweeps right while he sweeps left. But all too soon it’s evident they have already missed their chance. Closets and dressers are thrown open like someone left in a hurry. Unwanted remnants left behind. Traces of a child’s life stolen away.

“Clear,” Korsak grumbles as he snatches up a well-worn and discarded stuffed toy.

“Clear,” she parrots. Sighs a dejected _fuck_ under her breath as she shoves her weapon away and unclips her phone.

“Kelsey was here before he took off.”

With the call already dialed and the phone held out, she gestures impatiently around the room, lands on the pink plastic castle in the corner and snips, “Really. What gave it away, Cinderella?” She turns away as the call connects via speakerphone. “Nina! Mills is gone and we need to know where he went. Please tell me you have something.”

_“Not really. But I finally tracked down Rebecca’s mother, Abigail Bryant. She’s on her way here now from New Hampshire.”_

“Good, good,” she mutters, squints hard as she scratches her forehead. “You’re telling me we’ve got nothing else on Charlie Mills?”

_“Nothing but dead ends and an old farmhouse that was sold off after his parents died.”_

Jane swings around to look at Korsak, finds him staring back equally intrigued. “Who owns the farmhouse now?” she asks, unable to hide the hope that lifts her tone.

_“No one… technically. It was bought by the county years ago to clear land for a new highway.”_

Damn. Her shoulders slump. “So, they bulldozed it?”

_“Well, they were supposed to, but the construction has been tied up in red tape ever since -”_

“That has to be it,” Korsak interrupts, brooks no argument as he promptly exits the room with a gesture that says Jane should follow. “Let’s go!”

As they thunder back down the stairs, she watches Korsak direct several uniforms back to their vehicles to provide backup.

“We need that address, Nina!” she pleads. Hopes against hope that Korsak’s hunch is right, and that they won’t be too late. Again. “He still has the girl.”

* * *

If Charlie Mills is hiding out here, they don’t want to tip him off. So their sirens have been off for the last couple of miles, fearing the wide-open space might allow the sound to carry on the wind.

If only there were some way to mask the crunching of tires on gravel, she thinks, as they speed down the long driveway that splits an enormous hay field.

Not that it matters much; anyone with eyes can see them coming. All she can do is hope their speed makes up for it. And with a bit of luck, this is Charlie’s only way in or out.

Slowing to a halt at the edge of the property, they exit their vehicles and draw their weapons. Take cover momentarily behind open car doors and take stock of the scene.

They can see the whole of the front and partially down one side. There doesn’t appear to be any movement inside or out. But the garage door is open and inside Charlie’s pickup truck sits with its engine idling. Hopefully it’s helped a little to cover the sound of their approach.

Sensing they still haven’t much time to spare, she bends her knees and hunches her shoulders, tries to make herself a smaller target. “I’m gonna check it out,” she whispers to Korsak. Gives him no time to respond before she dashes inside.

“Clarkson. Sanders. Go cover the back,” she hears him gruff at the uniforms as she reaches the tailgate of the truck and squats down. “We don’t want him getting away.”

Pressing her back to the bodywork, she shuffles silently along the length of the truck, moves deeper into the darkened and cluttered garage. Stops beneath the driver’s door and takes a steadying deep breath. Pops up to her full height and turns, points her gun in the window and freezes.

It’s empty.

But even unoccupied, there is a ton of stuff packed inside. The backseat as well as the truck bed is full to bursting.

Looks like they got here just in time because clearly he was preparing to leave.

Peering carefully into one of the boxes, she finds a stack of framed photos. All of them shots of Rebecca and Kelsey. The kind she’d have expected to see displayed around Rebecca’s living room. A handful of colorful drawings in crayon, too, like she’d expect to see pinned to a proud mother’s refrigerator.

She remembers the scene, recalls the living room being devoid of any traces that Rebecca had a child. It had made no sense at the time, but it does now.

There’s another box full of a little girl’s toys. And another full of tiny clothes.

She turns back to find Korsak peering at her from the garage doorway. Spots the one remaining uniformed officer over his shoulder, still covering the front of the property as well as Korsak’s back from beside his police car.

“I have an idea,” she whispers, points a finger at the internal door in the back corner that must connect the garage to the house. Hopes the low rumbling of the engine remains enough to cover their movements. “Charlie wants to make a run for it. I say we give him a shove in this direction.”

She waves the uniformed officer over and they quickly huddle up.

“What are you thinking?” asks Korsak, and she’s grateful he hasn’t pulled rank yet. Gets the feeling she might be in for an earful later for being rash and rushing into the garage without warning.

“The engine’s running, so he’s obviously planning to leave. Korsak, you take the corner behind the door to the house. I’ll take up position behind the truck. Travers, I want you to go pound on the front door, announce you’re the police as loud as you can. When he runs, he’s gonna come this way and we’ll be here to cut him off. Take him by surprise.”

Korsak gives his blessing with a jerk of his head, one that points Officer Travers back outside to do as she says. “Tell Sanders and Clarkson to keep their eyes peeled, just in case he takes a different way out.”

“You got it,” Travers nods. Uses his walkie-talkie to share the plan as he heads for the front door.

And just like that, they move into position. Listen intently as the pounding begins. Take care to conceal their presence as signs of life stir from within. And hold their breath as the door handle twitches.

Once. Twice. And then an angry voice and a child wailing. “Now, Kelsey! We’re not going back for Mr. Bear!”

The door crashes open and a breathless Charlie Mills rushes out, clutching his squirming daughter with one arm.

The child kicks and screams. Cries repeatedly, “I want my mommy!” until he deposits her roughly into the passenger seat and slams the truck door with a growl.

Jane stands up and steps out from behind the truck as Korsak steps down from his hiding spot.

Charlie turns to head around the front to the driver’s side. “We have to -”

“Go?” Korsak supplies with a cocked eyebrow. Finishes Charlie’s thought for him as the man comes face-to-face with the sergeant’s gun.

Whipping around as if to run, Charlie freezes again. Finds Jane with her weapon trained at his chest and a smirk on her face. “Don’t. Move!” she barks and he puts his hands up in defeat.

“Hands behind your back,” Korsak orders, steps up behind the man and wrestles each of his wrists down into handcuffs as Travers enters the garage through the door from the house and the other two officers enter from the driveway. “Charlie Mills, you’re under arrest for the murder of Rebecca Mills.”

She holsters her weapon and opens the truck door. Scoops up the crying child who clings to her desperately, tiny arms looping around her neck.

“Mommy!”

“Shh. It’s okay, baby. You’re okay.” She clutches Kelsey to her chest, rubs a gentle hand over the girl’s back as she turns to exit the garage. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“YOU CAN’T DO THAT!” Charlie struggles against his cuffs and Travers joins Korsak in keeping him under control. “SHE’S MY DAUGHTER. YOU CAN’T TAKE HER!”

Heart pounding and blood boiling, she stops and turns to Sanders. Keeps her voice low as she instructs, “See if you can get her settled in your car and then stay there.” She hands off the girl and then, with a single head jerk, sends Clarkson out that way, too. Plants her hands on her hips and watches for a moment as they climb into the vehicle.

“FUCKING BITCH! YOU CAN’T TAKE MY DAUGHTER.”

She sniffs and runs a finger beneath her nose as she turns. Tries not to let her emotions get the better of her, but it proves difficult as she stalks back toward the man who murdered that little girl’s mother.

“You stole everything you could from Rebecca. You took her life, her daughter.” She jabs an index finger at the open box visible through the truck window as she strides past it. Sneers as she says, “You even took her fucking memories!”

“ _She_ tried to take _my_ life first,” he spits, but pulls his head back a little when she gets right up in his face.

“Well now _I’m_ taking it,” she growls, her top lip curling it into more of a snarl. Dangerous and threatening, like the sharply drawn brows from beneath which dark eyes burn down on him. “You just said goodbye to your life as you know it. Because I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you die in prison.”

And for a second he seems amused, as if he doesn’t believe she’ll follow through.

But then there’s a twitch to his eyebrow, a move that brightens the look in his eye even more, only a split second before he head butts her in the face.

“AGH!”

She stumbles back against the truck as Korsak and Travers wrestle him out of the garage, kicking and yelling like a maniac.

“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

“You’re going to jail, pal.”

“That’s enough! You son of a bitch. Move. Now!”

Bent over with her hands on her thighs, she blinks and squints, widens her eyes over and over again. Repeatedly stretches her face and works her jaw until the spots and lights that dance before her watery eyes are almost gone.

She listens as the yelling dies down, as their voices get further away. Then hears the slam of a car door.

Once she’s a bit steadier, she presses the heel of her hand to her eye socket. Feels the tender sting of injury to her brow and cheekbone. There’s no open wound because her hand comes away clean, but getting away without any marks is probably hoping for too much. He caught her good. And maybe she deserves a couple of bruises for being a cocky dumbass.

Korsak saunters back into the garage. “You okay, Rizzoli?”

“Yeah,” she breathes as she stands up, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Follows him as he heads back out. Frustrated, and mainly because she can’t kick herself in the ass, she kicks the back tire of the truck as she passes. “Motherfucker!”

“Come on,” he chuckles, pauses long enough for her to catch up. Is kind enough not to tell her she’s an ass when she rudely shucks off his attempt to help her over to the car. “The sooner we get this bastard back to the station, the sooner we can get him behind bars where he belongs.”

And she can think of nothing better. To close a case. And this one in particular is a special kind of high. One that might take her mind off how mad she is at herself right now.

“We got him,” she sighs as they climb into the car. Lets her head fall back against the headrest as Korsak smiles and nods.

“Yeah. We got him.”


	13. Chapter 13

Behind her, high heels tap a staccato beat along the hallway. A rhythm that seduces her heart, begs it to thump along at the same pace.

She doesn’t need to turn to know it is Maura who approaches. Yet she breaks from the ten minutes she’s spent watching through the family room window to grace the doctor with a warm smile.

She shoves her hands in her pockets, leans casually against the wall. Permits herself a moment to appreciate Maura from head to toe. Can’t help but grin a little as pale cheeks start to color. Enjoys the twinkle in hazel eyes. Eyes that crinkle and smile in the corners, that try to scold her obvious mental undressing of their owner, but that only manage to flirt back.

“Hey, you,” she breathes as the blonde sidles up close.

“Hey, yourself. Nina told me where to find you. Are you doing okay?”

“Me? Yeah. I’m good,” she dismisses. Shrinks away a little as Maura’s eyes lock on to the bruise that is fast developing beneath her eye.

“That growing hematoma over your zygomatic and maxillary bones would suggest otherwise.” The doctor tuts and gives her a look that says she’s an idiot and not fooling anyone. “You need an x-ray. Or, at the very least, an ice pack.”

Maura’s concern is as heart-warming as always, but she brushes it off. Shucks a thumb over her shoulder and turns away towards the window. Watches Kelsey play at the feet of two older women as Maura sighs in irritation and turns to join her. “That’s Rebecca’s mom, Abigail,” she points. Though the tears and Kleenex give away which woman is the grieving grandmother and which is the Family Services worker. ”She didn’t even know she had a granddaughter until Nina called her.”

Maura’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wow.”

“They’d been estranged for years. Sounds like Charlie played a big part in keeping it that way.”

“Isolation,” Maura states with a sharp nod. “It’s one of the ways an abuser keeps control.”

“Mm,” she hums as they stand shoulder to shoulder, reflects on all the unknown aspects of Rebecca’s relationship with Charlie. “But he’d finally lost that control. Rebecca filed for divorce and sole custody. Abigail said she would have helped if she’d known what was going on. Maybe Rebecca was just too proud to pick up the phone after all that time.” She shrugs. “Who knows?”

“And Kelsey? How is she?”

Jane sighs. “She’ll be fine.” Kids are resilient, she’s learned. But losing both parents so young is no small thing, and all she can do is hope for the little girl’s future.

“So, what happens now?”

“DCF will do the checks they need to make sure Abigail’s home is suitable for her to keep Kelsey. So the kid might be in foster care for a little while. But once that’s all done she can go with her grandmother back to Manchester.”

“New Hampshire?” Maura brightens, and Jane gives her a nod. “Nice.”

“Mm,” Jane murmurs as she turns away from the window to face the blonde. “Where politicians go to die and the homicide rate is less than half that of Massachusetts.”

Maura turns to her with an eyebrow cocked, a little thrown off. “Well, that’s… cheery. Come on,” she urges, loops an arm around Jane’s elbow and leads them away down the hall. “I saved you some lunch. It’s in the fridge downstairs. You probably don’t want to eat whatever they have left in the café and we can ice your eye while you eat.”

Jane freezes, throws her wrist out to get a look at her watch. “Oh, shoot!” It is hours later than she realized. “I still might prefer café leftovers to food from the _dead_ fridge,” she mumbles. “And I promised Ma…”

The words seem to prick at Maura’s ears and the doctor stiffens. “You spoke to Angela?”

“Er, yeah,” she scowls, wonders why Maura would say it like it’s a strange thing. Wonders, more to the point, why her mother hasn’t been chasing her all over Boston yet. “She called me yesterday.”

“Oh, that is good news!” Maura exclaims with a handclap. “I thought the two of you would never speak again after what happened with your father. Repairing your relationship might take some time, but it’ll be worth it in the end.”

Pulse racing with shock, she tries to remain calm. Tries to control her breathing and act as if nothing is wrong. Doesn’t want to tip Maura off to the fact that she doesn’t even know her own life. That other Jane’s life.

She hates the fact that this isn’t the first revelation she’s dealt with either. Hates these subtle and not-so-subtle differences between realities. Hates that she’s becoming more adept at hiding her true and natural reaction to things.

Never in her life has she been interested in acting. And if you ask her, she’s terrible at it.

Linking Jane’s arm as they start walking again, Maura bumps her shoulder, seems to take pleasure in quoting her own words back to her. “I’m glad you weren’t too proud to pick up the phone. Maybe we can take a trip to Florida sometime.” Maura becomes positively giddy as they stop by the elevator and she pushes the down button. “Ooh, we could do a road trip!”

“Ugh,” she groans, exaggerates a funny face with crossed eyes. Immediately imagines the strict itinerary and tourist stop research that would no doubt be required to complete a long journey like that with the perky medical examiner. “ _Why_ would we do a road trip to _Florida_?”

Maura swats her on the bicep. “Not funny. Just because you hate being in the same room as your father, doesn’t mean you should never visit your mother. She still needs you, Jane. Even if she doesn’t say it. Frank’s cancer treatment won’t have been easy on either of them.”

_Wait – What?!_

The elevator dings open and Maura enters, but Jane’s feet don’t move.

“I’ll meet you downstairs in a few minutes,” she says, eyes on the floor and a deep crease between her eyebrows. Holds her palm to the edge of the elevator door to keep it from closing. When she lifts her eyes, it’s clear Maura doesn’t quite understand what’s going on.

It’s not the blonde’s fault, but Jane can’t explain. And she can’t continue this topic of conversation without finding out what the hell is happening.

If she’s going to maintain this pretense, it’s time she bit the bullet and did a little investigating.

“I won’t be long,” she says, makes a point of meeting hazel eyes and smiles kindly. Hopes that’s enough to steady Maura’s spirits as she lets go of the elevator door and steps back. “I just need to make a call.”

* * *

A low voice comes through the phone the instant it connects.

_“I can’t talk right now!”_

“Frankie!” she blurts as she pauses in her restless pacing of the break room. Lowers the phone to her chest as she breathes, “Oh thank god.” Grateful that he hasn’t vanished from her life, too.

_“Whaddya want, Jane?”_

“Is that any way to talk to your – wait - why are you whispering?”

_“We’re setting up that drug bust I was telling you about. It’s going down today.”_

“Drug bust? Wha -” she scoffs with a chuckle. Runs her mouth without realizing the weight of her words. “Who died and made _you_ a detective?”

 _“Ha ha, very funny. Like I haven’t heard_ that _joke a million times. If it’s not you, it’s my old patrol buddies. But you know what…_ this _detective is busy working, what’s your excuse?”_

“Um,” she stalls, processes the surprising new information. _Her_ Frankie was still in uniform, had failed his detective exam by one point, but it seems that’s not the case here. “I called to check if you’ve spoken to Ma recently?”

_“Not since last week. Why?”_

“Just, I -” she pauses, chooses her words carefully so he won’t suspect she’s fishing or think she’s crazy. “I guess I wanted to know how she was doing.”

_“She’s still pissed about the way you spoke to Pop, but she’ll live. And I told her again that I’m not taking sides. I love you both.”_

“I still don’t understand what happened…?”

_“Things just got out of hand, that’s all. It’s not the first time let’s face it. So, you were a little hot headed that day… she’ll get over it. Between you and me, Pop never should have cussed out Maura like he did. Treating her like garbage in her own home instead of like family. You did nothing wrong, Jane. Remember that.”_

Oh.

She remembers a similar incident way back when Frank was still trying to pick up the pieces of his ruined marriage. After the revelations about Lydia and the IRS. She doesn’t remember a fight with Angela though. Knows for a fact that her mother didn’t up and leave them all behind.

“Ma hates me?” she mumbles to herself.

 _“She doesn’t_ hate _you Janie, just… where do you think you got your stubborn streak from, huh? She’ll come around. Give her some time.”_

“But it’s been… what, several months?” she guesses, needs confirmation that this is as serious as Maura had implied.

_“I didn’t say it’d be quick. If she still lived next door you might have cleared the air by now.”_

“And the cancer? Is that -” she cringes, doesn’t know what else to say, or how to say it. When _her_ father had fled to Florida, he’d done so with his perfectly healthy tail between his perfectly healthy legs. It makes her wonder… he’d said some pretty awful things first time around, so just how low had he sunk this time?

_“Maura said he’d be fine and he will. Ma was fussing over nothing, not that Pop would admit it. He got her back just like he wanted. But, I gotta be honest, Jane… I think she shoulda stayed here like you said. And, I know… I know I didn’t back you up at the time, Jane and I’m sorry about that, because you were right.”_

She frowns hard. “Right about what?”

_“About Ma being better off without him.”_

Angela _has been_ so much better off without him. And knowing it for a fact makes all of this seem so much worse. “She’s okay though, right?” she asks, chews on the inside of her cheek, afraid to hear the answer.

_“Honestly? She doesn’t sound happy.”_

“Right.” It’s a fact that’s hard to swallow, even though she expected as much. It sends a pain through her heart and her eyes well up with tears.

_“And hey, while I have your attention… do me a favor will ya. If you’re gonna crash on my couch, at least pick your dirty laundry up off the bathroom floor before you leave! Or I might rethink letting you keep that key and make you move the last of your stuff.”_

“Oh, um… yeah,” she sniffs as the penny drops about Frankie’s stuff being all over her apartment. Her _old_ apartment. “Sorry about that.”

_“Shit. Here comes Martinez. I gotta go! Bye, Jane.”_

She slumps into a chair beside the small lunch table. Only manages half a response before the call cuts off. “Be safe, Frankie. I lo -”

With a heavy sigh, she lowers the phone. Stares at the screen unblinking until it turns black with sleep. Decides she can’t call her mother until she knows how, or even _if_ she can help fix things.

Trudging back up the hallway to the elevator, she realizes as far as pros and cons go, the cons of living in an alternate reality are stacking up faster than she can keep track of them.

Her original life isn’t perfect. But it’s okay.

Sure, there are things she would like to change, but at least everyone is around. She has them in her life and they’re happy. That should be more important than her selfish desires, shouldn’t it?

She can’t help but think that using that fucking doorway might have been a really bad idea.


	14. Chapter 14

Mid-yawn and stomach grumbling, she’d taken barely two steps into Maura’s office when her phone had started to ring. Maura’s phone following close behind.

“Rizzoli,” she’d growled, feeling unfairly victimized. Eternally fated to live out her life dog-tired and, worst of all, unfed.

“This is Dr. Isles,” Maura had breezed, throwing a wry smile that said she enjoyed the stark contrast of her chirpy brightness to Jane’s dark mood.

Jane had just huffed and rolled her eyes, turned partially away as she listened to the call.

But then the scene location had been relayed and her breath had caught in her throat. She’d turned back to Maura, watched as the doctor’s face had lit up like a kid on Christmas Day.

Now, buzzing with energy, Maura practically bounces through their new crime scene. Rosy cheeks aglow with the crispness of cool, fresh air. Eyes sparkling and wide with wonder.

Jane’s eyes are wide, too, as dry leaves crunch underfoot. But for a very different reason.

“I _love_ the body farm,” Maura declares. “Isn't this amazing?!”

“Yeah,” she breathes as she dawdles and gawps at the disturbingly familiar scenery. “In a _Walking Dead_ sort of way.”

It’s a particularly unpleasant scene. One that raises goosebumps on her skin. One she shouldn’t recognize, having never been here before. And one she wishes wasn’t exactly as she remembers from the Milson case crime scene photos.

A breeze picks up and she grimaces. Wrinkles her nose at the unmistakable stench of death and swats at a fly as both are blown into her face. “Who _thinks_ of something like this anyway?”

“Well, BCU just wanted a natural setting to study the decomposition of dead bodies,” Maura explains. “I just wish it was here when I was in school.”

The doctor strides on towards the police tape and uniforms as Jane drops back to observe.

Despite ridiculous yellow wellingtons that shorten a petite frame by three inches, the blonde moves just as gracefully as always. And Maura’s childlike reaction is downright adorable.

A pang of sadness hits her as she wonders how their exchange went the first time around. She’ll never know, because the first time some _other_ Jane had stood in this same spot with Frost by their side. And it is impossible to fathom how the hell that worked.

She knows she missed a day when she crossed over and spent the night with Maura. Wonders if the Jane from _this_ life found herself catapulted across realities, too, when she used the doorway. Wonders if she’s the only person this crazy shit has happened to since those blinding lights showed up.

There are no answers for her close at hand, but there might be for this case if the details stack up as she expects they might.

This isn’t a new case to her. There isn’t a new perpetrator or a copycat dumping bodies in a location that so far has left a previous case unsolved. It was clear just from the look on Maura’s face when _she_ heard the location from dispatch.

That reaction alone blew holes in any theory that this was a separate case. Not that she’d prefer that theory anyway. No one wants multiple maniacs using the same _how to get away with murder_ method.

Running the same case again will be a whole new experience. Perhaps it will afford them some advantages. And yet there have already been numerous differences between this reality and her own, so exactly how much of this case will be the same remains to be seen.

“Why is _she_ so chipper this morning?” Korsak’s low voice startles her from behind.

She walks with him as they both head for the tape, throws a hand out in Maura’s direction and chuckles. “What - are you kidding? This is like Disneyland for her.”

Tipping his head at the uniformed officer in charge, Korsak asks, “What do you got?”

“The cyclone fence around the property is in good shape,” he points, marks out the perimeter. “And there's a working padlock on the front gate. It's not Fort Knox, but the place seems secure.”

“What about security cameras?” she asks, testing the waters for case details she remembers.

“There are only three cameras, and they're all focused on above ground corpses to capture time-lapse images of decomposition.”

“Corpse cam. All right,” she mutters, happy that the details match so far. “We need to watch the tape from the cameras, they’ll have something useful - _might_ ,” she corrects quickly with a cough. “ _Might_ have something useful.”

The officer walks away as they stride over to where Maura crouches next to the victim. A young woman partially exposed beneath a dirty yet distinctive floral housecoat.

“Any idea what killed her?” Korsak asks. Gets a headshake from Maura as Jane chews the inside of her cheek.

“I can't determine a cause of death until I complete a full autopsy,” the doctor says, unaware of the images flashing behind Jane’s eyes.

Rope fibers. Charlotte Milson’s driver’s license. Tox results. Details that are still hours away from being discovered.

Skipping ahead just isn’t possible, no matter how much she wishes it wasn’t the case. Maybe she can just throw in a few choice pointers to speed things along. Judging when and how to do that, so as not to out herself, so to speak, will take some careful consideration.

With her hands planted on cocked hips, she breathes out a deep sigh. Having all this prior knowledge suddenly feels like more of a hindrance than a help. A burden that she must shoulder alone.

With a sigh of his own, like he knows this case is going to be tricky, Korsak peers around the grim location. “Somebody knew this was the perfect place to dump a body,” he says, and all Jane can do is nod.

That was her one overriding thought when she came across this very case the first time around.

* * *

The uniformed officer returns with a woman in tow. She looks stern, extremely unhappy and – Jane squints – vaguely familiar.

“Detective Korsak, Detective Rizzoli, this is Dr. Carlson. She’s the professor in charge of the body farm.”

Jane’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. Now there’s a noticeable difference. No wonder the woman’s features are familiar. And yet, she realizes quickly, it’s a difference that doesn’t appear to change much of anything in this reality.

Noticing her surprise, the professor jams clenched fists into the pockets of a pristine white lab coat as dark eyebrows meet in a scowl. “Is there a problem?”

“No, n-no, no problem,” she stumbles, hopes no one else noticed her odd look as she schools her face. Finds herself preoccupied with the memory of the doctor’s previous incarnation and his obstructive attitude. “We – um -”

“We need to ask you some questions,” Korsak cuts in, and she’s grateful to have the prickly woman’s focus redirected elsewhere.

Impatient, Dr. Carlson huffs and points at the retreating uniform. “I already went over everything with that police officer.”

“Well, we'd like to hear it again,” Korsak gruffs, widens his stance in a way that says _you’re not getting rid of us that easily, lady_ as he takes out his notepad and pen.

“Access here is highly restricted. No one gets in to the body farm.”

Jane cocks an eyebrow, knows for a fact they’ve just been lied to. “No one?”

The professor shifts uneasily. “Well, I mean… We do permit a select group of students and other faculty members. Some groundskeepers and a few delivery people, but that’s it.”

“And what about at night?” Korsak asks with a head tilt. “Do you have security after hours?”

Dr. Carlson sighs, waves a dismissive hand. “No. The grounds are locked up at 9:00pm by a grad student. But he's very reliable.”

“We'll still need his name and a list of all those other people that have access to the property,” Korsak informs the professor, gets a smile in return that doesn’t quite reach dark eyes.

And when the professor says, “Of course!” Jane doesn’t believe her. Remembers Frost had gone through all the camera footage long before that damn list ever came through.

Gesturing for Korsak to follow, she trails behind Dr. Carlson as the woman turns and heads for a small building off to their right.

“So, there's no chance that this is one of your research corpses?” Korsak enquires as they enter the professor’s office. And Jane has to stop herself from shaking her head or opening her mouth and spilling details she shouldn’t already know.

“No, no, it's definitely not mine,” Dr. Carlson insist as she moves to sit down behind a desk.

The detectives each take a seat opposite as Korsak asks, “How can you be so sure?”

The professor all but sneers and Jane has to look away to keep her composure. Korsak’s innocent-sounding questions seem to be doing a fine job of annoying the woman and she wonders again if this is how it went the first time. Had it been Korsak again or maybe Frost who had riled Dr. Carlson? It doesn’t appear to take much effort, so either seems feasible.

“Because I was brought here to implement systems that ensure this facility runs flawlessly, and that's exactly what I've done! Trust me; I know how many bodies are here and precisely where they're all placed.”

Dr. Carlson then directs their attention to a large wallboard covered in diagrams. “When they arrive here, they're washed, fingerprinted, photographed, and tagged, and then each body is placed in or above the ground and then carefully notated on this map.”

“And yet, we've found an extra body,” Korsak snarks with a raised eyebrow, matching the professor’s snippy tone as Jane hides a smile that finally breaks free. “I would suggest you do an inventory to make sure there are no un-notated bodies laying around.”

Quick to rise and face clouded with irritation, Dr. Carlson points to the exit. “We will. Now, if there's nothing else, I need to get back to my students. Your presence is interrupting my teaching schedule.”

But even as Korsak stands, Jane doesn’t move. Just props one booted foot up on her knee and drops clasped hands into her lap. She’ll be damned if she does nothing to prevent the professor giving them the run around a second time.

“You have a potential homicide victim on your property, Dr. Carlson. I rather think it’s _her_ presence that’s the problem.” Wagging an index finger between herself and the sergeant, she continues, “And _trust_ me, if anyone knows how much finding a dead body can just _ruin_ your day, it’s us. But we’re not leaving without that access list. So…”

She tilts her head side-to-side, as if fabricating options instead of just recalling what actually happened. “You can either provide it now, or we can come back tomorrow, take you downtown for an interview, and ruin that day, too.”

When she smiles, it is anything but sweet. Probably looks a little smug, but she doesn’t care. Because that’s exactly how she feels when Dr. Carlson huffs, sits back down, and gets straight to work.

With the case moving right along, she hopes they can keep up this momentum and move it on past the point at which it stalled the last time. And of course, there’s a process to follow, a series of steps that they must go through. She can’t just leap to the finish line, even if there was one. How would she explain that?

No. Best to let their investigation develop naturally. She’ll just give it a little nudge here and there. Because knowing a few things about the case beforehand, she decides, isn’t so bad after all.


	15. Chapter 15

After a long day, she walks naked from the en suite into the bedroom. Freshly showered and with her damp hair wrapped up in a towel.

Maura remains reading, reclined against the headboard with glasses and medical journal still in place like she was twenty minutes ago. But unlike before, there’s now a gift bag perched next to her on the nightstand. Tied all fancy with bows made of ribbon, enough to make Jane’s heart skip a beat. And not in a good way.

This is what she gets for intruding on somebody else’s relationship. Zero knowledge of their anniversaries or special occasions and the consequences that will no doubt ensue.

“What’s that?” she asks, points at the bag with trepidation. Knows it’s a question that begs for trouble. Expects Maura to waste no time in pointing out what a shitty girlfriend she is for having forgotten whatever milestone the gift signifies.

Setting aside the journal and removing her glasses, Maura peels back the covers on Jane’s side and pats the mattress. Purrs, “Come here and I’ll show you,” with a sultry smile and Jane wastes no time in climbing onto the bed.

Maybe she’s not in trouble after all.

With the bag placed between them, Maura proceeds to open it and reach in. Withdraws the first item and holds it up before Jane as if it were Exhibit A and they were standing in the lab discussing evidence.

“Mineral bath salts for your restless nights,” the doctor reads from the label. Shakes the jar of purple crystals and pretends to ignore the roll of Jane’s eyes. “As we _know_ , research shows lavender can help to ease insomnia and anxiety, so, if you take a hot soak in it before bed it should help you sleep.”

Maura lays the jar down on the bed and then dips back into the bag. “Massaging gel insoles. Because sometimes you’re on your feet for hours at a time, doing your _gumshoe thing_ , and, well -” Maura squeezes the blue rubber through the packaging, flashes Jane a blinding smile and offers a tiny shrug. “They can’t hurt.”

Dropping her head, Jane smiles into her lap as Maura drops the insoles and rummages in the bag again. She might consider these kinds of products a waste of money, has never bothered with them before, but the blonde’s thoughtful devotion is priceless. If she weren’t already convinced that _this_ Maura loves her - is _in love_ with her - the amount of care being shown right now would surely seal the deal.

“Bruise ointment fortified with green tea,” Maura continues as hazel eyes examine a small white tube. “Specifically designed for sports injuries.”

She assumes it’s for her face, but as Jane accepts the offered ointment, she spots the words ‘Do not use near eyes or mouth’ clearly printed down the side. Her eyebrows leap up toward her hairline as Maura confirms its intended use.

“The super antioxidants should help speed away the bruises and discoloration on your back and yes, I _have_ noticed.”

Her eyes are large as her head whips around, muscles protesting with the residual effects of her last doorway passage. Thinking she’d gotten away without any significant physical traces being left behind was beyond foolish.

She should have been more careful, kept herself covered, perhaps… No. The doctor has seen her in the nude multiple times now. Mapped her entire body with soft pink lips and a playful tongue on one of those occasions. And she was glad for it.

This revelation feels inevitable, that the doctor would discover the truth. But just as her frazzled brain tries to force out a ridiculous excuse, Maura saves her from herself and she breathes out in relief.

“If you’re going to work out when you can’t sleep, you really should take more care not to cause injury to yourself. Recovery takes a lot longer the older you get. Which leads me to the final item…”

Dipping into the bag, Maura retrieves a round, metal tin. Doesn’t let Jane see it, but instead immediately twists the top off and holds her nose to the pale white paste within. “Mmm,” the doctor murmurs appreciatively, eyes closing as she takes a long inhale. “It’s a warming balm made with cayenne pepper and ginger. The rub will relax your sore muscles and soothe your skin.”

She leans in and sniffs at the enticing scent, causes Maura to smile as the blonde continues to speak.

“It’s organic. Full of antioxidants. And best of all…” the doctor teases, a twinkle in her eye as she offers up the open tin. “It can be used for a relaxing full body massage.”

Jane smirks. “Is that so?”

“Indeed.” Maura grins, startles Jane a little as she snaps the lid back on without warning. “But only if you promise to take better care of yourself!”

Getting so banged up lately wasn’t part of any plan, wasn’t down to carelessness on her part, not really, and yet saying _I promise_ feels too dishonest. Too much like something she cannot guarantee and it twists her guts.

“I will try,” she offers instead, returns her gifts back to the bag and deposits it on the floor, Removes the towel from her hair and scoots a bit closer under the covers. “And as much as I love the idea of your hands all over me. I can think of some other places…” She smirks again and wiggles her eyebrows. “… That get warm when you rub them.”

Hazel eyes roll as the doctor tuts. “ _So_ eloquent.” But Maura doesn’t protest when Jane leans over and presses her down into the mattress. “If the detective work doesn’t pan out, you should think about writing romantic poetry.”

A sharply raised eyebrow betrays how impressed she is by Maura’s sarcasm. But then an idea quickly starts to form. “Oh, I’ve thought about it,” she grins, nibbles the doctor’s ear with her teeth as she settles her weight between Maura’s thighs. Traces the line of Maura’s jaw with light kisses. Turns her idea into action, purring the words directly onto Maura’s skin.

“ _I’m no longer a lonely old schmuck_ ,

 _Due to a brilliant stroke of good luck_ -”

She can almost feel the heat of secondhand embarrassment suffuse Maura’s cheeks as the doctor covers her eyes and murmurs “Oh god” with a chuckle. It does nothing to dissuade her though, only encourages the mischievous streak at her core.

“ _And a woman called Isles,_

_With the sexiest smile,_

_And a body I’d quite like to_ f-OWWW!”

“JANE!”

Her jaw drops at the sting of Maura’s sharp pinch to her buttock and she glares indignantly at the blonde as she pushes her upper body away. “What was _that_ for?”

“For reducing something beautiful to an obscene limerick!” Maura complains, as gentle fingers rub soothing circles over her burning buttock - both buttocks in fact, which turns her on immensely. And despite the deep sigh of supposed exasperation from the doctor, she can also see Maura fighting a smile. She loves these playful moments between them.

“Hey,” she protests weakly. “I might not be… Wilbur Wordsmith, but I can rhyme with the best of them.” She disappears beneath the covers, blazes a trail down Maura’s body with her mouth. Feels rather than sees the goose bumps that develop on pale skin. Maybe from her mouth, or perhaps from her cool, damp hair that trails along Maura’s abdomen. Either way, it generates a quick smile on her face in between licks and kisses.

“Did you-ahh mean William-ohhh-Wordsworth?” Maura asks between shortening breaths with a voice that trembles as Jane’s tongue skirts lower and lower.

She doesn’t bother to reply as she reaches her destination. Just takes Maura fully into her mouth and laves her hot, ready tongue through Maura’s wetness. Bottom to top in one long, torturous swoop.

With a stuttering gasp, Maura murmurs, “Unngh. Never mind,” and needy fingers take hold in her damp locks.

It’s just as well, because deliberately mixing up names and misquoting details to the doctor for sport is something she’s done for years. Something she’ll never admit.

That secret generates another smile, and the tiny pause has Maura’s hips rocking as her head is encouraged back and forth.

Focusing her attention on Maura’s clit, Jane relishes the feel of the hot, plump flesh in her mouth. Directs her tongue to one specific area and feels it slowly grow as she drives small circles over and over again. Sucks and strokes until her jaw aches and all she wants is to stay here forever, to feel Maura’s little nub become gloriously erect in her mouth every day for the rest of her life.

She latches a strong hand around each of Maura’s thighs when the tremors and moans begin. Pulls the doctor firmly to her mouth and sucks harder, swirls her tongue faster. Works Maura into such a state the woman practically growls as the grip in her hair is tightened with a sharp tug and Maura comes undone with a series of loud grunts.

Jane laps at the swollen clit that still throbs between her lips for long moments. When Maura stills, she breathes heavy, her own body hot and sweaty beneath the sheets.

As she slinks upward, her head popping out of the covers, old images swirl in Jane’s mind. Years old dreams of a life with Maura, a life so far impossible. But those images start to grow; sparked anew and recolored with hope. Expanding her dreams until her heart feels fit to burst.

“There’s just something about the way you do that...” Maura pants, blissfully unaware and glowing as she sweeps a couple of damp locks from her brow.

“Good?” She knows so – it was amazing even for her - but it doesn’t hurt to check. After all, it is _her_ first time doing it this way and that’s another thing she can’t _ever_ admit.

“Mmm,” Maura confirms, breathing deeply. Makes Jane’s heart miss a beat as if mind reading when she says, “Like the first time all over again.”

Jane smiles. “I want every time with you to feel like the first time.” Watches with a frown as Maura turns her face away. “I’m serious,” she adds, sits up beside the doctor and reaches for a hand. “I love you, Maura. You make me think about the future. About having a wife and a home and a bunch of screaming kids and it’s everything I always thought I didn’t want but I _want_ it… with you.”

Rambling is embarrassing enough, but Maura still doesn’t turn. And when the blonde sniffles, Jane is quick to panic. “No, don’t… why are you crying?”

“You know why!”

She really doesn’t, but she can take a guess that the old flaky Jane has something to do with it. “Maura, just -”

“Say it again,” Maura whispers as she turns. And the tears that coat her cheeks hurt worse than a bullet to the gut. “Please, say it again.”

She tugs Maura close, until their noses brush. Keeps an iron grip on Maura’s hand as she professes, “I love you so much.”

“I almost gave up…” Maura sniffs again, looking as sad as Jane has ever seen her though the blonde smiles bravely through it. It isn’t like Maura to fidget either but the woman ties the sheets in knots with her fingers. “I never told you, but I… that whole time with Casey, seeing what he did to you, how he hurt you… it broke my heart. Doubly so… because I already had feelings for you.”

Given the weight of that admission, Jane can’t blame the blonde for feeling anxious. She’s guilty of the same secret, but worse still has never found the courage to deal with it.

Even the notion that the real Maura, the original Maura might have felt something for her years ago but since moved on to Jack, well… It fucking stinks. And further proves she’s a first class idiot.

Maura hiccups a little laugh and cups Jane’s cheek with one hand. “I fought hard every day to move on. But I still fell asleep every night thinking of you, holding onto hope that you would -”

Jane crushes their lips together. Kisses Maura senseless and wipes the tears from her face. And when Maura seems a little less fragile and her own heart has started beating a steady rhythm again, she lies down beside the woman she worships, entwines their legs together, and makes love to her all over again.

This is where she’s meant to be.

And that weight on her mind, all those endless existential questions about the finer details of alternate lives and realities, well they’re just… gone. Forgotten.

What else is there to figure out?

This Maura loves her. So, she’s having her cake and eating _it_ , too.


	16. Chapter 16

Frost’s voice swims in her head as she enters the Division One café. It is feint. Like an echo.

_What did we miss m i s s m i s s what did we miss?_

Around and around. A ghostly whisper that tickles her ears as she pumps coffee into her empty cup.

_Damn cold case cold c o l d this better not turn into a damn cold damn cold case._

Not content with haunting her dreams last night, he’s been bugging the snot out of her all day. She wishes he were here, instead of being just a name engraved on the foyer wall, so she could smack him upside the head. Tell him to get out of hers.

So, okay… they’ve hit a bit of a wall and their case has stalled at the exact same point as before. It doesn’t mean Maura has double the amount bodies on her metal tables downstairs.

But that’s how it feels. Like double the failure.

Even the notion that they – _she_ \- might be beaten twice by the same killer sends a grotesque and nauseating ripple of dread down to her stomach.

They’ve worked hard today and have almost everything they need. The body farm access list and a statement from the grad student who worked security. The victim’s ID and her resignation letter. The generic rope fibers and that same hideous housecoat.

And even though she’s sure the answer lies within the pile of papers on her desk, she’d had to get up and take a break.

But it is short-lived as she’s snapped out of staring off into space by Korsak barking her name from the doorway.

“I thought I might find you here. You’ll wanna come back upstairs. I think Nina’s got something!”

“Okay,” she says, quickly pours some sugar in her cup and follows him back to the bullpen.

* * *

“When you insisted I run the victim’s physical description through missing persons, I found a woman who went missing last week that matches the profile. Sammy Harper.”

“Let me guess…” Jane drawls, holds fingertips to her temples and squints hard. “She’s a… _waitress_!”

“Close,” Nina smirks, points at the woman’s details on the screen. “Accountant.”

“Oh,” Jane deflates. Not close at all. Sometimes she forgets how unreliable these alternate reality details can be.

“And I think I found a connection between Sammy and Charlotte,” Nina adds.

“Really?!” she squeaks. This is what they need. The missing piece.

“The same guy delivered Clear Spring bottled water to the office building and the body farm.”

Jane’s frown is deep, skeptical. “But we went over and over Dr. Carlson's list. It was a _woman_ who delivered water to the body farm.”

“It is _now_ , but I looked up her employment records, and it turns out she's only been working the route for about ten months, so I checked with Clear Spring. Before her, it was a man called Jeffrey Tyler.”

“Dr. Carlson said she saw wheel marks in that area.” Technically, it’s only half a lie. Dr. Carlson _did_ mention wheel marks. But it was the former Dr. Carlson and he was under interrogation at the time. It’s a minor detail that Nina doesn’t need to know and should be of little consequence in the long run. “They could have been from the dolly he used to deliver the water.”

Nina nods. “I bet he kept a key to the padlock, too.”

“You got an address for this guy?” Korsak cuts in, sounds as keen as she feels to check out their one new lead.

“318 Carlyle Avenue.”

“Okay, we gotta go,” she rushes. Wonders on the way out if she and Frost ever would have gotten this far. Knows neither of them would have thought to dig deeper than their initial background checks. Can’t pinpoint _anyone_ in the precinct who might have thought of doing that.

No one but Nina.

“You are _officially_ amazing!” she says as she back tracks and sticks her head around the doorframe of BRIC. Gets a bright beaming smile as a result. One that she returns before finally heading out.

* * *

“A home this tidy is _not_ what I expected from a deranged psychopath,” Korsak says as they pick their way through the contents of Jeffrey Tyler’s living room.

“Well, you can't judge a book by its cover.” She drops the suspect’s mail on the couch having deemed it unsuspicious and moves toward the office desk at the back of the room.

“Huh -”

Jane’s head whips around to find Korsak holding up a picture frame. “What do you got?”

“Family photo,” he says, turns it around to face her.

It shows two adults and a child, presumably the suspect and his parents and clearly from decades ago. Her eyes widen as she takes in the mother’s familiar clothing. “Oh, now we know why the victim wore a housecoat.”

“Yeah, it reminded him of dear old mom,” Korsak grimaces, puts the frame back down with a shudder. “Looks like you were right.”

Jane scoops up a piece of paper from the desk and her stomach somersaults. This is definitely their sicko. “This is a first draft of Sammy Harper’s resignation letter, typos and all.”

“That means he's already got her,” Korsak points out, and it just makes her feel nauseous and desperate.

“But where is he holding her?”

“Call Nina,” he says, and she can’t get her phone out fast enough. “We need to know everything that she can find on Jeffrey Tyler and his family.”

It only rings twice before the call connects and she routes it to speakerphone.

“Hey. We're knee-deep in nothing here. Have you found anything else on this guy?”

_“Well, Jeffrey Tyler has a long history of mental illness.”_

“Oh, who would have guessed that?” She raises her eyebrows at Korsak who rolls his eyes, equally unsurprised.

_“He was hospitalized several times as a teenager for depression. And his criminal record lists two arrests for assault and battery.”_

Jane frowns and mutters, “I wonder what set him off?”

_“His mother was murdered by his father in 1978.”_

“Apple doesn’t fall far from the freak tree,” Korsak scoffs.

_“His dad did 36 years in prison and died there last year.”_

“I’d call that a triggering incident, wouldn’t you, Detective?” and she nods.

“I certainly would, Sergeant.”

_“I looked over the trial transcripts. The father was consumed with controlling the mother. She disobeyed him and he hanged her.”_

“Okay, so…” She rubs a hand over her forehead and sighs. “Jeffrey is definitely our guy. We need to find some other place that he could be holding her.”

_“He has no living relatives. The guy was a loner. It seems he didn’t play nice with others. But I have his parents’ old address. The deeds are still in their name.”_

Of course they are, she muses bitterly. Wants to kick herself in the ass for not thinking of it sooner. “We're gonna need that address.”

* * *

Flanked by SWAT team members, they take position by the front door in silence. If the commotion inside is any indication, this is definitely the place.

They’re trying to get an exact lock on the suspect and hostage, so that nothing goes awry, when a booming, angry voice shatters their composure.

“WHEN I SAY I WANT MY DINNER ON THE TABLE, IT DAMN WELL BETTER BE THERE!”

“NO!” shrieks a sobbing female and Jane makes an urgent signal for someone to bust the door in _right now!_

“I'LL TEACH YOU TO OBEY ME!” Jeffrey threatens, wielding a large kitchen knife as they swarm the house.

Jane bears down on him gun first with heavy footsteps and a murderous scowl. “POLICE! Put the knife down!”

But he’s already spinning around, grabbing Sammy from behind and pressing the knife to her throat. “You drop it or I'll cut her!”

“PUT IT DOWN!” she barks, plants her feet and sets him in her gun sight.

But he only clutches at Sammy harder and the woman hisses as the blade nicks delicate skin.

“Alright, alright,” Korsak soothes from her right. He holsters his gun and holds out both palms as her eyes dart back and forth. “You don’t want to hurt her,” he offers as softly as his gravelly voice will allow. Draws Jeffrey’s attention as he takes a careful step forward.

Jane uses the distraction to move a little to her left.

“And we don’t want to hurt you,” Korsak continues. “So, just relax… and put… the knife… down.”

It’s a worthwhile effort, trying to end things peacefully, since they themselves are in no immediate danger. But as Jane shifts further and Korsak tries to step forward again, Jeffrey is clearly unwilling to cooperate.

It’s not working, and he does the opposite of relax. She sees the veins in his forearm stand out as he tenses.

There’s a shift in his stance, a slight quiver to the knife, and then Sammy screams as Jane’s shot rings out.

BANG!

“Aah!” Jeffrey slams to the floor and the knife skitters away across the parquet as he clutches a bloodied shoulder.

Weeping loudly and with trembling hands covering her ears, Sammy is frozen in place, her face white with shock.

Jane steps forward and leans in to pull the woman away. Almost spits on Jeffrey as he rolls in agony, “You won't be cutting anybody.”

Korsak circles around, manhandles Jeffrey until he’s sat on his butt. “Get your hands behind your back.”

Jane watches as they cuff him and haul him up onto his feet. Sammy’s face buried into her shirt as if she can’t look at the man who has no doubt cursed her with nightmares for the foreseeable future. “It's okay. It's all right,” she soothes, lets the terrified woman clutch onto her for dear life as she strokes her blonde head. Feels the girl tremble and shake in her arms.

“Oh god, thank you.”

“Shh. You’re okay.”

The capture of their suspect and rescue of their victim feels bittersweet. There’s a void somewhere in her chest where a powerful rush should be. And her breath hitches as a vision of Sarah Hamilton flashes behind her eyes until she blinks it away.

Bracing Sammy by housecoat-covered shoulders, she turns and eagerly leads the way outside where an ambulance awaits. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

Home. That’ll be hours from now, especially for herself and the rest of the team. Long after the evidence collection and the witness statements and the reports.

And yet she can’t help it as her mind skips ahead. Wishes all of those hours away, to a point where the case is wrapped up and she can escape. Can relieve the anticipation and restlessness that is already starting to make her itch.

Because the sooner it is done, the sooner she can leave. Can run back to her old life and take care of unfinished business.

* * *

The 3am alarm wakes her with a start.

Jolts her from peaceful oblivion with such urgency that she slams a kneecap into the underside of the dashboard. “AGH!” Shocks herself again as she twists, striking the steering wheel with her elbow and blasting the horn. “God dammit!”

Rubbing her knee, she silences the alarm and then forces herself to still, to close her eyes and breathe deeply. Wills her galloping heart to slow and feels the pounding in her chest gradually lessen.

Her commitment to avoid any unnecessary bruises isn’t off to a good start. But then, even with the best intentions, sleeping in the car probably wasn’t her finest idea.

She’s had the alarm set to go off every hour. Has waited patiently for those lights to show up and now, finally, she sees them. Sparkling in the dark. Lighting up a portion of the alleyway like it’s Christmas among the trashcans.

It’s about time. As comfortable as her driver’s seat is, she didn’t really want to be out here all night. Had tried not to dwell on _what if_ – what if it didn’t show up? What if she’d had to go home to Maura and try to explain where she’d been?

But it did show up. So she climbs out of the vehicle and stretches stiff limbs. Commits to being more cautious this time as she strides down the alleyway.

Once in front of the steel door, she stares. Squints a little less than she did the last time. Like someone has used a dimmer and turned down the intensity a notch or two. Like it’s losing its power and she doesn’t want to think about what that might mean.

Hand outstretched, she steps toward it. Inches slowly closer until her fingertips start to disappear. Braces all her strength against the pull and succeeds in staying her ground.

She holds her breath as she shuffles forward a little. Watches as her fingers and palm vanish from view and leave her staring at nothing but white.

Her hand tingles painfully and she winces. It feels like her tendons and muscles are being pulled and squeezed all at once. Trying to wiggle her fingers achieves nothing. Just doubles the pain and she’s quick to yank her hand back out.

But at least the doorway didn’t tug her through unprepared this time.

Huh… There’s another strange and unsettling thought…

She felt its strength, but was able to resist. Like it’s... weakened somehow. Maybe she left it too late tonight, caught it closer to whatever time it normally fades out. She promises herself she won’t sleep so long next time - It’s easier than contemplating other, scarier theories on what might be happening to her doorway.

Calming herself, she fills her lungs and tries to relax. Works her neck and flexes her shoulders, reasons the less tense she is, the less it might hurt.

Closing her eyes, she takes one big step forward. It’s time to find out.

* * *

The gift bag she finds on the kitchen counter when she walks into her apartment almost gives her a coronary.

 _‘To help your exhaustion. With love x_ ’ it says on the tag in a familiar looping script.

“Ugh. You’re killing me, Maura,” she breathes, eyes to the ceiling.

Peering at the contents, she finds variations on the bath salts and insoles she already received from the blonde, as well as several jars of ridiculously expensive eye cream and moisturizer.

With a shake of her head, she pushes the bag aside. Tries not to think about what the gifts mean in this life. As if it wasn’t painfully clear.

Stomping to the bathroom, she lets out a huge sigh. Knows she shouldn’t equate the actions of a friend with those of a lover but can’t help herself. Not when those actions are identical and fraught with affection.

She fills the bathtub and removes her clothes. Thinks a hot bath might aide relaxation and help her brain switch off for a while. She doesn’t want to dwell on the fact that she could be lying next to Maura right now, if only she weren’t so stubborn.

But not thinking about Maura at all is impossible, and she stalks back out into the kitchen with a growl.

She’s never needed fancy salts before, never used any fancy creams. And would never go out of her way to buy either for herself. But it doesn’t mean she can’t enjoy a gift in the privacy of her own apartment, right? Nobody has to know she secretly likes it.

And so she snatches the gift bag from the kitchen counter, springs barefoot back to the bathroom and slams the door.


	17. Chapter 17

Maura once told her ‘dying is easy. It’s living that’s hard.’

She doesn’t remember who said it, but the quote did stick. She remembers it being effortlessly recalled at a second’s notice, as if her best friend’s brain wasn’t impressive enough. Remembers it being perfectly suited to the situation, enough to ease her pain. Or _their_ pain more likely, such is their relationship, their closeness.

The precise situation has been forgotten, too, but she’ll never forget _that_ look.

She can recall perfectly how hazel eyes had sparkled, glinting with wetness. How they’d glided over her face, slowly caressing without touching, etching something permanent onto her soul. She can feel the heart-swelling warmth that had suffused her cheeks that day – like so many days since - as she’d stared back through the silent pause that followed.

The image thickens her throat. She was already much too in love even then.

And Maura wasn’t wrong; living one life _is_ hard. But trying to live _two_ is utterly exhausting.

The distorted reflection in the metal elevator door wears a long mop of snaggled hair, with trenches beneath the eyes so dark and deep she could bury a body in them. One of those things, she muses, is partially down to her lamentable genetics, but the other is a creation entirely of her own making.

It’s not that she doesn’t _care_ what she looks like; it’s just not a priority. Not like the morning caffeine she craves even more so than usual lately. It just didn’t really register as a conscious choice when she dismissed a fight with her hairbrush in favor of using the time to pick up coffee before work.

They might mock her lousy timekeeping and poor life decisions, but she wears her unruly almost-black curls with pride.

And it’s not that she doesn’t _know_ how she looks either. After all, there’s nothing wrong with her eyesight. But as she leans toward her reflection for a closer study, the move only blocks more light from overhead, further contouring her weariness with lines and shadows that make her feel older than her years.

Looking a little disheveled as she steps out of the elevator is nothing new, with so many difficult homicide cases demanding all-nighters. She’s put on an un-ironed shirt before, arrived in a wrinkled suit countless times. That it’s now become her everyday appearance regardless of workload has yet to be mentioned by anyone of note. She suspects they’re giving her a pass, too polite to say anything.

Everyone except the mouthy asshat in the corner, of course, and so it’s no surprise when he shouts, “Yo, Rizzoli. Nice hair! You been sleepin’ in your car again?”

He high fives his buddy and hee-haws like a mule while she merely blinks, breathes a quiet tired sigh, and continues to swagger across the bullpen.

She sets down a large cup of Boston Joe’s finest and plops heavily into her chair. It takes a lot of hard work to look this bad. Much more than anyone realizes. Yet even if she came clean, there’d still be at least one idiot wanting to push her buttons.

Reclining, she props one ankle up onto a knee. “What is your problem, Crowe? Wondering how it feels to have a full head of hair? Hmm?” With one eyebrow steeply raised, she meets his stare, smirks behind the rim of her cup as she takes a sip. “If you’re lucky maybe someday I’ll explain it to you and your _impotent_ follicles.”

Her words aren’t scientifically accurate. Maura’s scolding voice tickles the back of her mind like a twitchy nerve. But the downward flick of her eyes to his crotch nail the insult right where it hurts. She can practically feel his pulse pick up as his face reddens under a snarl.

“It just seems like the only explanation for you looking like shit…” he growls, creating a hush and attracting an audience of wide eyes. “‘Cos I _know_ there isn’t a man keeping you up at night.”

She lets out a derisive snort that mingles with a handful of quiet snickers before putting down her coffee. If he only knew… Her dark eyes are low as she gives a gentle, pitying headshake. She can feel people hovering, waiting to see if she reacts.

She doesn’t.

Unwanted onlookers don’t make her squirm like they used to. She has years of experience garnering above-average amounts of attention under her belt. For being a woman in a man’s field, and other more embarrassing or distressing reasons. Like when they’d called her a hero, or when she’d found herself the victim of a predator she’d mistakenly treated as prey. It all helped to form a hard crust around the soft bits that reside within. It’s not an ideal way to be, but at least a thicker skin allows some of life’s shit to bounce right off.

She plants her feet under the desk and flicks on her computer monitor. Stifling a yawn, she enjoys the feel of pressing her toes into the soothing gel cushions of her new insoles and then freezes, because he isn’t done yet.

“Having the size of their balls continually compared to _yours_ would make any dick run a mile.”

And there it is. His insult game is as pathetic and unimaginative as her first day on the job. Why are they always too dumb to see the irony in calling her a man? Betty White has it right; he needs to grow a pair… of ovaries. And fucking grow up.

Worrying about other people’s perceptions is an exercise in futility, and besides, her head is already threatening to throb just as hard as her feet. It’s his funeral if he wants to showcase himself as an imbecile in a room full of witnesses.

His chosen sport of trying to make her life a misery is rooted in jealousy, pure and simple. It’s not a stretch for Boston’s most decorated Homicide detective to conclude, she’d put money on it. In fact, she wants to cut him, just a little, to see if he bleeds green.

It’s not a theory she has chance to test though, and his playtime is definitely over when the Lieutenant’s voice booms out across the bullpen from his office doorway.

“Knock it off, Crowe!” Cavanaugh barks, his gaze sweeping over everyone as an added warning to any more jokers.

When piercing blue eyes land on her all she gets is a jerk of the head. “Rizzoli, in my office.”

She snatches up her coffee and dutifully follows. As she breezes past an empty desk, the pad of her index finger brushes the foot of the plastic Guardian Chogokin and a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

Korsak is already waiting inside, the empty chair beside him no doubt meant for her. She slips him a quiet _hey_ in greeting and gets a flick of bushy gray eyebrows in return. Then, as the lieutenant moves behind the desk and she turns to kick the door closed, the half-smile she’s still sporting behind a curtain of wild hair turns into a grin.

A familiar, warm voice raises the hairs on her arms. “Morning, Jane.”

“Hey,” she whispers back, throat clogged with emotion as she sits down.

Cavanaugh’s office is only big enough for two chairs this side of the desk, so he’s stood behind them pressed against the wall. Every bone in her body screams at her to just act normal, but all she wants to do is stare over her shoulder at his beautiful face. She’s not even listening to the lieutenant, the purpose of his meeting a total mystery. Can feel Korsak’s eyes on her, sweeping her profile, probably wondering why she’s still beaming in the face of Sean’s serious business.

But she just can’t bring herself to care.

She might be living two lives, driving herself to the brink of physical exhaustion and, quite frankly, employing some impressive mental acrobatics in order to accomplish it thank you very much, but it’s worth it.

It’s worth it because at least in this life, and among other equally important things, she still has her friend and partner.

In this life Barry Frost lives.

* * *

She follows him back out into the bullpen, surprised by how much his mood has darkened over the last half hour. Tries to catch his elbow as she keeps her voice low. “Hey, I know Cavanaugh has a stick up his ass about that stack of cold cases, but -”

“I’m not adding Charlotte Milson to that pile, Jane,” Frost insists with an adamant headshake. “It’s not happening.”

“No, I know,” she says softly as she sits. Winces a little at the way he drops heavily into the chair opposite. Deliberately petulant like a child, like she sometimes is when things don’t go her way. She doesn’t hold it against him. If anything, it’ll make it all the sweeter to share what she’s learned about the case. Just as soon as he’s done working out his frustrations in her direction.

“We _know_ they’re connected,” he grumbles, thumps his fist occasionally against the desk as he speaks. “I just can’t figure out how! They didn't live in the same part of town. Didn't work in the same industry. Didn't go to the same church or gym. They didn't shop at the same grocery store. One was single and one was divorced. One went to college, one didn't. One owned her home and the other one rented an apartment. They couldn't be more different!”

After a quiet moment in which she just looks at him, somewhat amused and with one eyebrow cocked, she asks, “You done?”

He sucks a long breath in through his nose. Exhales the dying embers of his anger with a deep sigh. “Sorry.”

“We _can_ close this case, but I need you on your game right now,” she states. Watches with a smile as intrigue lights his eyes and the corners of his mouth start to turn up.

“You found something,” he says as he leans in and it’s not a question.

She pulls their casefile open and turns several pages, needs to make it look convincing. Reminds herself she can’t skip straight to the finish, has to lead them through all the necessary steps to get them where she knows they need to go.

“The same guy delivered Clear Spring bottled water to both the body farm and the restaurant.”

“No,” he frowns, shakes his head again. “I background checked everyone on Dr. Carlson’s list. It’s a woman who delivers water to the body farm.”

“It is _now_. But _I_ checked some stuff, too, and she’s only been there ten months. Before that, it was a guy called Jeffrey Tyler. He would have had a key to the gate padlock, would have used a dolly just like whatever left the wheel tracks that Dr. Carlson mentioned. I say we find an address and go check him out.”

“Alright,” he says, though he sounds unconvinced. Like she’s reaching, and she can see how it would appear that way. But then his fingers are flying across the keyboard and she’s satisfied that the bait she dangled before him was enough to get a bite.

A lead is still a lead to a desperate detective, and it doesn’t take long for him to perk up. “Got it! 138 Carrington Avenue.”

“Okay, let’s go,” she chirps, starts to follow as he stands before changing her mind. “Wait – wait…” They didn’t find him at his home the last time, even if the address was different. And there’s no Nina here to call when – _if_ – they find they need new directions.

“What – why?” Frost asks as he stands over her, clearly itching to leave.

“I want to check something,” she explains, wags a finger first at him then at his keyboard. It is code for _him_ to do the checking and he sits back down without complaint. “Run a search for family members. I want a list of _every_ address associated with this guy before we go running all over town.”

“Searching family members,” he breathes, sounds unconvinced again as he gets to work. “You think it’s possible he’s hiding Sarah somewhere else?”

Something like that, she thinks, ignores his understandable skepticism. “I just want to be thorough,” she says and flashes him a smile when he looks over. “A tiny apartment doesn’t feel like it would fit his domestic fantasy.”

“Mm,” he murmurs, squints at the screen. “Here we go… I found his parents’ address, but there are death certificates on file for both – Oh!” His eyes go wide and Jane doesn’t need to imagine the information that he just unearthed. “Oh, Jane… this- this is definitely our guy.”

He twists the monitor around to face her and, rather than feign surprise, she leans in and scours the screen for the parents’ address as Frost keeps talking.

“His Dad hanged his Mom. Did 36 years in jail and died twelve months ago, right around the time when Charlotte was buried at the body farm.”

Once her eyes find what they need she’s out of her chair like a shot. Grins down at him as she clips on her phone. “You did it, partner!”

“Me? _You_ made the connection!” he argues and she rolls her eyes. Gestures for them to head out.

“Tomato, tomahto. Let’s go.”

She’s eager to get a jump on Jeffrey. Recalls Sammy Harper with a knife to her throat as they stride down the hallway to the elevator. Hopes they can rescue Sarah Hamilton before she falls victim to the same blade. Knows it’s worth the risk to skip the suspect’s apartment altogether.

She stabs at the elevator button, quietly confident. Nobody’s getting stitches today, not if she has anything to do with it. Now she just has to convince Frost to -

“You know -” he murmurs as the elevator arrives, interrupts her thoughts as they step inside. “It’s pretty clear this guy is twisted because of what happened between his parents. Why _wouldn’t_ his sick fantasy involve _their_ house? The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. I say we hit that first. See if he’s there. And if not, we head to his apartment. What do you think?”

“I _think_ …” she drawls, pretends to mull it over for a second but breaks into a grin. Claps him on the shoulder as the doors open onto the lobby. Breathes a sigh of relief. “I like the way you think.”


	18. Chapter 18

Korsak turns away from the bar with his drink held aloft. “Here’s to an amazing team,” he toasts with a big smile on his face, tips his head in their direction. “Well done, everyone!”

Among the celebratory clinking of glasses and bottles, several voices clamor, “Hear! Hear!” and she can clearly make out one of them as her mother in the next booth.

“Fastest case closure of the week!” Frost declares, claps her firmly on the shoulder. “And the month, probably. In fact I think it’s a record.”

Her instinct is to shuck off the praise. To shrug and say _all in a day’s work_. They rescued the girl unhurt and put the bad guy behind bars. It went smoothly, quietly and without the benefit of a whole SWAT team. But she has to admit this feels especially good.

As she smiles down at the tabletop, she realizes she doesn’t need to weigh pros and cons anymore. This alternate reality thing provides her – _them_ \- some undeniably unique professional advantages. Personal benefits notwithstanding - which are hard to ignore when she can smell Maura’s alluring scent from across the table - it’s pretty damn clear now that using the doorway was the best fucking idea she’s ever had.

She clinks her bottle first against Frost’s beer, then against Maura’s almost-empty wine glass with a very satisfied smile. “Cheers!”

“Yes, um… cheers,” the doctor replies absently, seems to realize she needs a refill and gestures to the bar. “Oh, I’ll just… Would anyone else like another?”

Frost lifts his almost-full bottle. “Not for me.”

“Or me,” she says, frowns as Maura flashes an unconvincing smile. Wonders what is troubling the doctor so much that she’s gulped the white wine they bought not five minutes ago.

“What’s the matter with Dr. Isles?” Frost asks, because of course he’s noticed it, too.

The sides of her mouth turn down. “No idea,” she breathes as she watches the woman walk away.

She could take a guess, given the rarity of seeing Maura so glum. Has _some_ idea that it might signal trouble for the blonde’s relationship with -

“Jack,” Frost mutters and it makes her head snap round.

“Huh?”

He jerks his chin to the doorway and her eyes follow.

Jack.

“Aw, shit,” she mutters.

They watch as the professor spots Maura and joins her at the bar.

“I guess we’ll find out,” Frost notes with a hint of humor.

It would probably be polite to look away, but she can’t tear her eyes from what is clearly a lovers’ quarrel.

Animated gestures convey Maura’s displeasure, and for several minutes they sit slumped in their booth transfixed but unable to distinguish more than a handful of hushed words. For that, at least, Jane is grateful. Morbid fascination is human nature, but she really doesn’t need to know.

Then before long, the couple seem to reach a truce of sorts and Jack follows dutifully as Maura makes her way back to their booth.

The doctor doesn’t sit, just scoops up her purse and says primly before turning away, “Please excuse me. I’m just going to powder my nose.”

Dropping into the empty seat opposite, Jack’s eyes trail Maura all the way to the ladies room and he lets out a huge sigh.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Frost pipes up in between throwing peanuts into his mouth, “I’d say you’re in the doghouse.”

“I made a mistake and she’s upset with me,” Jack says, as if the last part isn’t obvious to everyone in the room.

Her face falls as an arsenal of protective instincts kick in. Scowling darkly from beneath heavy brows, she imagines Frost’s face must have clouded over, too, because in a flash Jack’s hands are flailing defensively and his eyes are flickering back and forth between them. “Oh no - nothing horrible. I would never – no, I just… _unintentionally_ stood her up a couple of times. There was this work thing… and then my ex... and I tried to apologize, but somehow I made it worse.”

“What do you want _us_ to do about it?” asks Frost. So unapologetically blunt that she feels a twinge of sympathy for Jack, right before she’s bowled over by a tidal wave of affection for her equally protective partner.

“That’s why I’m here,” Jack replies and his eyes leave Frost to land on her. “I was hoping for some help.”

“Me?!” she squeaks. He has to be joking.

He leans forward, all puppy dog eyes and she’s sure that look has probably worked on _some_ women. Maybe even worked on Maura in the beginning. But… ugh. This can’t be happening.

“I need a gift – something… _big_. Extravagant. But it’s hard to know what to get. It has to be something that shows her how sorry I am, how much she means to me. But is that a diamond necklace? A week in the Caribbean? I can’t -”

She shakes her head as she cuts in. “Maura wouldn’t want extravagant. Just _ask_ her, she’ll tell you. Why don’t you… I dunno… make her dinner, watch a documentary, talk -”

“It has to be _special,_ ” he insists.

“Okay, listen,” she sighs impatiently, already kicking herself for what she’s about to do.

Grabbing Frost’s suit jacket off the seat beside her, she nabs a pen from the inside pocket. Ignores his tutted objection as she scribbles on a napkin.

_Newbury. Chez Katia. DeLuca’s._

“This never happened,” she growls, watches Jack nod as she leans forward, slides the napkin to where he can see it and points the pen at the first suggestion.

“The Newbury - She went there once, but she didn’t get to try anything because she was too busy saving an old guy from a heart attack. She was disappointed for like… an _entire_ week.” Frost snorts beside her and she turns to him with a chuckle. Recalls how adorable the sulking medical examiner had been with her bottom lip sticking out. “I’m serious! I never heard the end of it.” She hadn’t wanted to, if she’s brutally honest. Because Maura had whined and stomped her foot - actually _stomped_ like a toddler - and Jane had wanted to scoop the woman up in her arms, take that bottom lip between her own and –

She clears her throat and turns back to Jack with a forced frown. “Take her there for lunch and make it good. No calls, no student emergencies.” She wants to say no ex-wife or daughter drama but bites her tongue. Ignores the undercurrent of bitterness and jealousy that vibrates beneath her skin. Tries to lighten her own mood with some humor. “And if she makes you eat snails, or something equally disgusting, you’re on your own.”

“Ignore her,” Frost laughs. “She’s got the palate of a Neanderthal.”

When she turns to him, it’s with her whole body, not just her head and she sees him shrink back a tiny bit. “Oh, I’m sorry, _Mr. Adventurous_. Are we forgetting the live clam dish she convinced you to try at Fugakyu last year?”

Frost turns instantly green. “But it came in a steel bowl, and looked…” He gulps, closes his eyes with a shudder. “…like a tongue.”

“Mm-hm,” she nods, pleased with herself. “That’s what I thought.” Turning back to Jack, she shucks a thumb over her shoulder. “We had to get someone to take it away while he yakked in the bathroom.”

“Oh,” Jack murmurs, a shade paler now than when he walked in.

Stabbing the pen at the napkin again, she moves onto the next suggestion. “This is the boutique she likes - Chez Katia. A new pair of shoes always cheers her up. Anything except blue suede. She already has a pair of those. Size seven and a half. The half is important. She’ll say seven if you ask her, but it’s a lie. I’ve no idea why she does that. And no heel higher than four inches. The knobby balls and silly yoga class didn’t work out.”

“Knobby balls?”

Draining the last of her beer, she waves a dismissive hand before shaking her head. “Long story. Never mind.”

She plonks the empty bottle down in front of Frost because it’s his round. Glares at him for long seconds and, when he doesn’t move, she flicks her eyebrows in the direction of the bar. But he just stares back at her with a grin, like he’s enjoying her misery a little too much and she hates him.

With a huge sigh, she moves onto the final name on the list. “DeLuca’s on Charles Street – Ask for a Château La Pointe Bordeaux. It’s one of her favorites and will go with anything.”

Frost interjects again. “By _anything_ … do you mean pizza?”

“Yes, pizza!” she exclaims indignantly. Turns to him with a wide-eyed look that says _fucking knock it off!_ She can take his teasing, but implying she’s uncultured and unsophisticated in front of the stupid handsome professor does something to her guts. “You got a problem with that, Gordon Ramsey?”

“No, no,” he chuckles.

“It’s even good with grilled cheese,” she snarks. Turns and points at Jack. “But _you_ don’t make grilled cheese,” and he shakes his head like it’s obvious. As if it wouldn’t be classy enough for a woman like Maura and Jane doesn’t tell him it’s _her_ specialty and Maura has enjoyed it many times.

“No, I’ll - I’ll make something…”

“Italian?” Frost blurts and Jane thumps her fist into his thigh.

“Look,” she sighs again, pushes the napkin across the table. Decides to wrap things up before it gets any more uncomfortable. “She likes museums and art galleries and chocolate fudge clusters and panda poop tea… and actually -” She squints, because sometimes the truth hurts. “She really liked that strange plant you bought her when you first met, so maybe a - a Venus fly trap or something. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“Th-thank you,” he stutters, seems a little overwhelmed by the information. And if Frost’s face is anything to go by, her rambling catalog of Isles favorites might have left her a little too transparent.

“Don’t thank me,” she sniffs, tries to claw back some dignity. “Just don’t fu – Oof!” She takes a sharp elbow to the ribs as Frost clears his throat. Looks up to see Maura making her way back to the table.

He sips his drink like nothing happened and she snarls in his ear. “Asshole.” Slaps on a fake smile and watches as Jack pockets the napkin. “Don’t _forget_ anything,” she tells him with finality, makes her threat subtle but unmistakable.

“I won’t,” he murmurs quietly as Maura appears by the table.

“Ready to go?” The blonde smiles, more like her usual self than she was ten minutes ago and Jane wonders how much of it is genuine.

“You mind if I steal her?” Jack asks and his focus is on her again.

Mind. Why would she mind? “Go! Go. Have fun,” she lies. Wishes she’d rolled that napkin and shoved it up one of his nostrils. Stupid handsome professor.

Frost waves. “See you tomorrow, Dr. Isles.”

“Goodnight, everyone,” the doctor says, dips her head at each of them but lingers a moment when their eyes meet. “Jane.”

“Goodnight, Maura,” she croaks and Frost seems to take pity on her at last as the two sit in awkward silence.

“I’ll get us some drinks,” he says and heads for the bar. Returns with two beers and two shots of what she hopes is the strongest whiskey they sell. Finds her relief short-lived when Angela slides into the booth opposite.

“You did a real nice thing there, Janie.”

“Ugh.” She curses under her breath and shakes her head. She had forgotten her mother’s proximity and figures the eavesdropping was inevitable.

Taking a drink, she shrugs it off. Latches her eyes onto the tabletop as her words get swallowed up by the glass bottle pressed to her lips. “No big deal.”

“But, it _is_ a big deal, honey” Angela coos, and she’s determined not to get annoyed and spoil the evening. “You know, it takes a lot of _love_ to put somebody else first like that. Wouldn’t you agree, Barry?”

“I most certainly would, Mrs. Rizzoli.”

“What -?” She shakes herself, knocks her beer bottle down on the table and turns to glare at Frost. So much for a quiet night. “What’s going on here? Did you say something to her, is that why she -” Turning her head to glare at Angela, she holds out her beer and uses the bottleneck to point between the two. “ _You_ , don’t listen to anything he says. And _you_ -” She turns back to Frost, puts her beer down and jabs him in the bicep. “You gossipy son-of-a-bitch, you’re as bad as her!”

“Ow,” he chuckles, rubs at his arm as he leans away. “I _know_ you kiss your mother with that mouth!” Earns himself a sharp swat from Angela, too, before her mother sits back with her arms folded in a way that doesn’t bode well and they both quiet like scolded children.

“Shall I tell you what _I_ know?” Angela says, surprises her and Barry both with her soft voice and sympathetic gaze. “I know that… when you helped Jack just now… it must have hurt like hell.”

And there it is. The truth laid so glaringly bare that she can’t force any words up past the lump in her throat. Just gulps painfully and tries to block out thoughts of someone else dating her best friend.

“Yeah,” she groans, covers it with a cough. Figures they might be encouraged to move onto something else if she just owns up and admits it for once. “Well, we’re here to celebrate our collective investigative genius, not to discuss what an idiot _I_ am. _So_ … cheers!” She picks up the shot of whiskey, downs it in one with an audible gulp. Hisses through her teeth and winces as it burns. Sighs as the liquid warmth smothers the emptiness within.

Frost laughs as she slams the empty shot glass down in front of her mother. “I think that makes it your round, Mrs. Rizzoli.”

“Okay, okay. But you should know…” Angela hesitates after she rises. Pins Jane with that motherly look, the one that makes her feel unfairly young and clueless and fiercely loved. “It hurts us, too.”

“Ma -” she croaks, wishes her mother would hurry up and disappear along with the damn tears she can feel welling up.

“We won’t tell her what is staring her in the face, but she’ll figure it out one day, and when she does you can -”

She shakes her head. “I can’t -” Tries not to think about having _her_ Maura – the real, original Maura, the one she fell in love with – love her back without any magic or mysterious interference. Without the feelings of guilt or deception that still simmer around the edges of her heart, despite having convinced herself she’s doing nothing wrong. Still thinks a carbon copy is enough.

Angela just shrugs and bluntly says, “You can think about it. Or you can pine ‘til you’re eighty. Your choice.”

They don’t know she already found a way to avoid making that choice. And as Angela leaves to refill their shot glasses, Frost says, “She has a point.”

She waits until he’s picked up his beer, lifted it to his lips and taken a big mouthful before she flicks the bottom of the bottle. Tips cold lager down his front and watches with glee as he sputters. “Hey!”

She picks up her own bottle and chuckles. “Shut up. Jackass.”

These kinds of evenings don’t exist in her other life, but she does truly have the best of both worlds.


	19. Chapter 19

She gets up in the dark. Sneaks out in the middle of the night. Drives empty backstreets until she finds the alleyway and pushes herself into the doorway of light until it pulls her to another life.

Over and over.

She solves case after case. Sometimes with Frost, sometimes with Nina, but always with Maura and Korsak. Hears talk of smashed case closure records and rumors of hero award nominations, but that’s not why she does it. Not _only_ why she does it.

Again and again.

Some days she goes home to Maura. To a level of domesticity that feels natural and comfortable. Not awkward or forced, like it had when Casey had moved into her apartment. All up in her space and her business, making her feel crazy and secretly wanting to change the locks.

Other days she hears endless stories about perfect dates and perfect gifts from the perfect man. Spends those evenings where she goes to bed alone questioning all of her life choices and cursing the generosity she continues to show the clueless, handsome professor.

Day after day, night after night.

This is what her life has become. Her _lives._ For so long now she can’t quite remember when it started.

But it’s gotten easier - Easier to land on her feet instead of her face, as she steps assuredly through the doorway like a well-balanced pro. Easier to get up and leave one life for another when the need arises, knowing it will be there waiting for her when she gets back.

And harder, too - Harder to face that that last part is nothing more than a lie she tells herself each time she crosses over. Harder to contemplate what would happen should the doorway close.

Because, even as she wishes it weren’t the case, what was once an uncontrollable pull of the light is now a push that takes considerable effort and nothing is bright enough to hurt her eyes anymore.

She still doesn’t know where it came from or why; let alone how to fix it. And, of course, what’s happening to it could be something else entirely, another _something_ that she doesn’t understand.

But at the end of the day, it does seem to be disappearing.

* * *

By her very nature, she should be unhappy at the lack of sleep involved in maintaining this dual existence, but she’s too content. Sleeping with Maura on the one hand, and knowing nothing bad happened to Frost on the other.

She shoulders any additional weariness, not with ease but with considerable effort. Tries to cover the bags under her eyes with extra concealer. Doubles down in her duplicity.

Surviving such short nights and everything else in between would probably be impossible for most people. But she’s Jane Rizzoli. And Jane Rizzoli is not most people.

She almost starts to get used to the reruns, too, yet this isn’t Groundhog Day. She’s not stuck in a loop.

Any overlaps or similarities from one life to another appear at random, so unpredictably that she can’t really discern any useful pattern. Feelings of déjà vu sneak up without warning. Like a static electricity that buzzes around her, so strong it taints the air and she can taste it on her tongue.

The minor details are mostly different, though sometimes with huge consequences she finds out. Like how one phone call on that fateful day delayed Frost’s road trip by a mere five minutes, enabling an out-of-control drunkard to miss him rather than hit him. As if life is just one big fucked up coin toss.

Regardless, the overriding themes are mostly the same.

“Wow, Rizzoli. That’s gotta be a record.”

“What are you going on about now, Crowe?” she sighs, so tired of him it’s not even funny. He’s like a broken record and she wants to throw her scalding hot coffee cup directly at his face.

“That bed head you’re sporting; it’s going on six weeks now. At first I thought maybe you’d started sleeping in your car again, y’know instead of going home… _alone_. But now I’m wondering if you didn’t actually find someone man enough to deal with your butch ass -”

“You son of a -”

“KNOCK IT OFF, CROWE!”

And then there are the poor, unfortunate victims. The people who never seem to catch a break in any life.

If you ask her, fate is a cold, heartless bitch.

* * *

She recognizes the crime scene address immediately. Already has her gloves snapped on and is ready to open Maura’s car door when the doctor’s vehicle pulls up at the curb.

“Good morning, Jane.”

“Hi, Maura,” she breathes with a shy smile, mesmerized by the blonde’s effortless beauty. In this dress and jacket combination, she’s particularly stunning. It’s almost as if Jane hasn’t seen it and loved it once before.

“Korsak’s already inside,” she tells her friend. Probably shouldn’t have said it, but he was here the last time and she can’t help but assume. It’s the little details that always trip her up.

“Have you been in?” Maura asks and Jane stiffens, squints a little as she weighs her response.

“No,” she hedges, “Yes… kinda.” It’s all becoming a little confusing if she’s honest and not slipping up on a daily basis, or coming across as some soothsaying lunatic has become a full time occupation. “Never mind,” she mumbles at Maura’s confused head tilt. Plays her trusted _I speak nonsense because I’m half asleep_ card and fakes a yawn. “It’s too early.”

There’s no _honey_ in this life. No _baby_ , or _darling_ , or _pumpkin_. Though her other Maura hates that last pet name with a passion and refuses to explain why.

In this life, Maura isn’t hers, and so, early on, she had strictly forbidden herself from being _too_ familiar. God forbid anyone got suspicious about her odd behavior.

But, it was so hard to define exactly what constituted too familiar, considering how tactile and flirty they always were with each other before all this happened. Every interaction felt stilted and unnatural and quite quickly _that_ was odd behavior, so the stupid rule got nixed almost as soon as it was borne.

Finding a happy medium here has been a bit of a struggle. It makes loving Maura from afar exquisitely painful some days. No more so than when Jack is present, but even when he’s not, she already knows too much. Feels too much.

She knows how it feels to hold Maura, to kiss Maura… to be inside Maura and to taste Maura. Knows how perfectly they fit together. Hand in hand. Side by side.

She knows now. And on days like these, as they stride shoulder to shoulder into the crime scene, the memories alone have to be enough.

* * *

The word most befitting the scene of total destruction before her is rage. Pure rage.

It taints the room, suffocating and dark. As if it’s been painted onto every surface, leaving only gashes and scratches and blood spatter and glass.

A murder scene is never good. Sometimes creepy and grotesque, sometimes just… sad. But this is so much worse than she remembers from the last time they stood in Rebecca Mills’ living room that it literally takes her breath away.

_Not again._

It makes it hard to look at the smashed picture frames that litter the floor. At the smiling faces of Rebecca and Kelsey Mills that stare back, tattered and torn and splattered with red.

Because, some are pictures she recognizes. And if they’re here, obliterated, instead of intact in a box in the back of Charlie Mills’ pickup truck, it means this time he didn’t try to _steal_ Rebecca’s memories of her life with her beautiful daughter.

Instead, he _destroyed_ them.

That difference alone, and the implications, make her stomach flip. And so she closes her eyes, turns her face away as bile burns her throat and the room fades out.

When she breathes finally, it’s a sort of half gasp that sharply fills her lungs as the blurred edges of her consciousness clear. And when voices fade back in from the white noise of horror that has filled her ears, she just tries to nod in all the right places and gets to work on the shortcuts she knows she can use.

She runs up the stairs, skipping as many steps as she can with each stride of her long legs, to sweep through the child’s bedroom. Finds traces of poor Kelsey Mills having been abducted from her little bed. Again.

Returning back downstairs like a whirlwind, she finds Maura busy with the body and Korsak with reading from his notepad as Frost chats with a uniformed officer by the back door.

She bags the shredded remains of Rebecca’s mail. Torn pieces of court orders and divorce papers and what looks like a very recent restraining order.

_That’s new._

Admitting Charlie’s abuse – not admitting Charlie’s abuse – neither seem to have done Rebecca Mills any good and it makes her blood boil.

Then, crouching as low as she can, she spies a wooden box open and empty beneath the couch. A quick sniff for the telltale odor of gunpowder and it’s off to the lab in a plastic evidence bag by way of Korsak’s uncertain second opinion and a disapproving look from Maura.

She doesn’t care.

Just grabs and bags everything she knows they’ll need while the others continue talking around her. She can’t remember every line word for word - so much of it has changed due to Frost’s presence - but their conversation is still so thick with déjà vu it makes her skin crawl.

She wants to escape, wants to rush them all out of here and go find Kelsey Mills. So much so that, by the time they’re officially done, she’s painfully tense and jumpy and Frost catches her elbow at the door.

“Hey. What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing!” she snips. Wipes a hand across her brow and adds with a sigh, “Missing kids always drive me nuts.” It’s a reasonable enough explanation for him to swallow without question, even if he does raise an eyebrow as they start to wander away from the house.

They watch from a distance as the gurney is hauled out, eyes following it down to the sidewalk as Maura oversees stowage into the van marked ‘Office of the Medical Examiner’.

“Want me to ride with you back to the precinct?” he asks as the blonde finds her car and follows Rebecca Mills back to the morgue.

“No,” she says without hesitation, shakes her head and softens a little because he cares if she’s okay and she’s been insufferable since she got here. “No, I – I’ll be fine.”

With Korsak done giving final instructions to the uniformed officers that will remain on scene, Frost shucks a thumb toward the Sergeant’s car. Backs toward it still looking concerned and unconvinced. “I’ll see you there?”

“Yeah,” she nods, flashes him a genuine smile. “I’ll be right behind you.”

She knows it’s a lie before they even pull away. Has no intention of heading straight back to the precinct. Not when she already knows all the addresses in Charlie Mills’ portfolio. And even though she promised herself she wouldn’t skip ahead and risk rumbling herself over a case, it’s a promise she’s willing to break for little Kelsey Mills.

* * *

She drives around for a couple hours, tries house after house and ignores the ringing of her phone every time it shows a BPD number.

There’s a cosmic joke, she’s learned, which goes ‘ _Knock, knock. Who’s there? Not Charlie Mills!’_ and the universe laughs and laughs and laughs.

…

_“Sorry. Never heard of him.”_

_…_

_“It’s not rented. My mom owned this house for fifty years before she died!”_

_…_

_“I knew a Charlie_ Miller _once. Nice guy. Used to work with him down at the docks, but he died in a fishing accident in 2003.”_

_…_

Nobody’s met or even heard of the murderous scumbag. So she can’t cheat the system like she’s done so many times before. Even if she’d have had no way to explain stumbling upon their prime suspect, it was worth a shot for the sake of the kid.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” she rails, palms pounding against the steering wheel as her car idles out front of the last house on her mental list. These inconsistencies really sting. And now she has to head back and face the music.

Pulling away from the curb with a huge sigh, she has only the duration of her drive to think up a valid reason for disappearing…


	20. Chapter 20

Frost seems to know it is her entering BRIC without even turning around. She guesses it’s the mix of telltale footsteps, followed by the scent of really strong coffee.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Yeah.” She nods, barely. Pulls out a chair and slumps down next to him. Swipes a few errant curls from her downturned face and flicks at something invisible on her trouser leg because she can’t make herself meet his kind, enquiring eyes.

Guilt bubbles in the pit of her stomach, swirling sickly beneath the mouthfuls of steaming hot triple shot she has already gulped on the way in. _Damn him_. If _he’d_ been the one to disappear without reason, she’d be furious! And worried for his wellbeing, of course, which he clearly is and she really wishes his dark chocolate eyes didn’t gleam with such care and curiosity like that.

“I had something personal to take care of,” she lies, knowing he’s too good a friend to pry. She hates herself for manipulating him, using his attributes against him. Clenches her jaw as she silently thanks a nameless god for not receiving what should be a well-deserved interrogation.

“Did you find anything else on Charlie Mills?” she adds after a quick breath, moving them on as anxiety prickles her skin.

“Nothing interesting,” he sighs hard, seemingly frustrated. "Just a couple of -”

“You need to check his financials,” she blurts, scoots her chair closer to the desk. “Employment history. Businesses. Real estate. You’ve got to dig deeper on this guy -”

“Whoa, whoa. Hold up…” Frost pleads. Stops her rambling with his hands up, palms out and a fierce frown that says he isn’t buying what she’s selling.

_Shit._

“What’s going on, Jane?”

The way he peers at her intently scorches her insides and makes her want to puke. She can’t tell him the truth and, for the first time since this alternate reality stuff started, it’s killing her to keep it all locked up. It’s her own fault, letting her impatience get the better of her, making rash decisions, and acting out of character.

Maybe she _could_ tell him. Could explain about the doorway of light and her other life. About having solved this case once already without him because he’s… She swallows hard and sniffs. Leans into him so she can plant her hand on his forearm. Feel how real he is.

“Look – just…” She chews on the inside of her cheek, falls back on plausibility because, no, honesty isn’t feasible. "I have this feeling in my gut, and – I just need you to trust me right now, okay? He’s _hinky_. I _know_ it. He killed Rebecca and took Kelsey, and we have to do everything we can to find out where he’s keeping her -”

“Okay, okay,” he fusses, a little flustered from her rambling and suddenly she’s past caring how crazy she looks if it gets her the result she needs. Subtlety isn’t going to save a helpless little girl. And if ‘just trust me’ works, well, she’s going to use it and breathe a little easier.

“This might take a while -” he offers, but she’s not waiting around.

“Fine. Do what you need to. Just get me an address. I’ll be downstairs poking the lab techs to see if they have any results yet.”

“Uh-huh,” he mutters as she stands to leave. “Poking the Chief more like.”

“Shut up,” she grumbles, swats him upside the head and turns to leave. The smile on her face as she strides out through the bullpen feels like the first one of the day, and as much as she tells him to stop teasing about Maura, it’s one of the reasons she loves him so damn much.

* * *

“Don’t touch that!” barks Susie and Jane snatches her hand away from the spinning centrifuge.

In a flash, the diminutive scientist has pushed her body between the detective and the whirring machine on the lab bench, forcing Jane to step back.

“This is not a one-step process, Detective Rizzoli. As you well know, it cannot be hurried.” Slim fingers push up her glasses, as if bolstering her resolve, before counting off her points one-by-one. “In addition to extracting, amplifying, separating, and analyzing the DNA from every sample, we have to run quality control tests to ensure your evidence wasn’t cross-contaminated or compromised in any way. Only then can we begin to interpret the electropherograms. We’re DNA fingerprinting the victim. DNA fingerprinting the daughter from the hairbrush CSRU provided. DNA fingerprinting any unidentified samples taken from the victim’s body, clothing, personal effects, etcetera. Then comparing all the aforementioned samples to each other and running them through CODIS and -”

“Okay, okay,” Jane spits, her face screwed up in pain because, honestly, dealing with the Senior Criminalist is testing on a good day and this is turning out to be anything but a good day. She lets out a short puff of air and her eyes go wide as she mutters under her breath, “I’m _really_ sorry I asked.”

She sighs hard and lets her shoulders fall into a hunch of disappointment. Tries a pout, too, even though she’s not proud of it, but all it does is make Susie fold her arms and raise her chin in stubborn defiance.

Not being able to click her fingers and have a forensic report immediately handed to her has been a thorn in her side every day of her career. Today it feels like the gods swapped out her ribs for a whole rose bush.

Changing tactics, she stands as tall as she can manage and plants her hands on her cocked hips. “You know your boss is my best friend, right?” She points toward the hallway, jerks her head in the vague direction of Maura’s office. “I could go talk to her and she’ll -”

Susie’s eyebrow lifts as she cuts in. “Tell you the same thing?”

“No!” Jane scoffs, folds her arms. Watches as Susie smiles, amused at her desperation no doubt. “Okay, yes,” she concedes with a sigh, before deciding she’s not too proud to beg. “She _might_ tell me the same thing. But this is _really_ important, Chang, and I need your help!”

Susie softens. “I think it bears repeating that every case is important, and we work as fast as we can all the time. Not just today. But if it’s any consolation, Dr. Isles already spoke to the team and told them to rush yours through as a priority.”

“She did?”

“She did.”

“Well, then… You can -”

“We’ll call you when we’ve got something.”

“Alright,” she nods, as if her coming down here wasn’t a total waste of time. As if there isn’t a feint blush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

She spins on her heel and heads for the door. Ignores the feel of Susie’s eyes on her back and the criminalist’s quiet chuckle as she bluntly offers, “Good talk.”

Once out in the hallway, her cell phone rings. A smile rises to her lips at the name on the caller ID.

“Whaddya got, Frost?” she asks, voice and heart full of hope.

“I found him, Jane! It took some unorthodox searching, but I found several addresses that are linked to Charlie Mills. How on earth did you know?”

“Just a hunch,” she lies as she heads for the elevator with almost a skip. _Finally! "_ I’ll meet you out front in two minutes.”

* * *

“I don’t know how else to say it… I did NOT kill Rebecca or take Kelsey! I haven’t seen either of them for months! I WOULDN’T HURT ANYONE!”

Maura’s calm voice filters through her earpiece.

“His exaggerated eye contact suggests an attempt to manipulate you. He wants you to think he’s telling the truth, because dishonesty traditionally involves a lack of eye contact. Coupled with the repositioning of his head after every question, and the lack of shoulder movement that indicates shallow breathing… The evidence would suggest he’s lying.”

He _is_ lying.

She knows it. As if bragging about his business and over compensating by offering all kinds of unrelated information again wasn’t enough, she knows it. Down to her bones. Like someone tattooed the words beneath her skin.

And because she’s now got to try and save the same innocent little girl for a second time, as if going through it once wasn’t bad enough - this disgusting cretin’s poor daughter, kidnapped and stashed god knows where and whose mother has twice been brutally murdered - she’s really, _really_ short on patience.

Frustration bleeds into her questioning. Hemorrhages impatient petulance as her pulse pounds in her ears. But she doesn’t realize until it’s _her_ and not the suspect Frost is keeping a close eye on. And even then, she doesn’t really care.

“Here’s the thing,” she snarls. Stops her pacing to plant her palms on the tabletop and lean menacingly over him, her gaze burning down from beneath dark, threatening eyebrows. “You’re not as smart as you think you are, Charlie.”

Slouching in his chair, Charlie tips his head back to look up at her. “Can I speak to a lawyer now?”

She ignores it and Frost says her name as a warning but it’s too late.

“I know every move you’re gonna make…” she sneers, leans in even further. “… Because you’re all the same. I catch guys like you every day. And I’m gonna catch you, too.”

The way he smiles turns her stomach. “Where’s the evidence? Huh? You ain’t got nothing on me!”

She growls and resists the urge to look up into the glass. Knows her eyes will only find her own, and not the warm hazel of Maura Isles in the observation room; the one person she can rely upon to back up her words with science. “But I will.”

He whispers low, just for her, “Not soon enough.”

She wants to grab him by the shirt collar and knock his lights out. Breathes out in disgust as she clenches her fists, “You son of a bitch -”

And she’s still so close she almost misses the twitch of his eyebrow as he leers. That look in his eye is familiar and –

She weaves as he lunges. His snarling face breezing barely past hers as she dodges his attempted head butt. Off balance, having met nothing but air, she uses his momentum against him and gives him a hard shove right into the table.

“ARGH, BITCH!” he screams and all hell breaks loose.

Frost tries to wrestle him back into the metal chair as Korsak bursts into the room. She leans back against the wall where the harsh overhead light doesn’t quite reach, and folds her arms. Watches with a satisfied smirk as he fights and struggles against the cuffs that now hold his wrists behind his back, knowing her mirth only enrages him further.

They shouldn’t have any problems keeping him locked up now.

“YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME!” he yells, turning first to the mirror and then to the camera mounted by the ceiling, spittle flying everywhere. “YOU HEARD HER; SHE JUST THREATENED TO PLANT EVIDENCE TO FRAME ME. IT’S A CONSPIRACY. THE CRAZY BITCH IS OUT TO GET ME!”

“Okay, that’s ENOUGH!” Korsak barks as he grips Jane’s elbow and drags her out into the corridor.

“Aww,” she whines theatrically as the door closes behind them, “I thought it was just getting to the good part.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?! I’ve never seen you go at a suspect like that before. You’re gonna get this case tossed out before it even begins!”

She scoffs, because of course Korsak would be back there with Maura this whole time. Figures. “He’s gonna walk right out of here because we can’t prove anything ‘til the labs come back!”

“And we can’t keep him here indefinitely with nothing to show the DA just because _you’re_ convinced -”

“Assaulting a police officer,” she states decisively. “That buys us some time.”

“No it doesn’t, Jane! Because instead of interviewing him, like the professional I _know_ you are, you chose to intimidate, threaten and provoke him -”

“But -”

He cuts her off, waves a hand back in the direction of the interview room then slams it against the wall for good measure. “But _nothing_ , Detective. IT’S ON THE DAMN VIDEO!”

He sighs long and hard, pinches the bridge of his nose as his eyes close.

“Fuck,” she breathes quietly as her ire subsides. She just wanted to speed things along, but instead she let Charlie Mills get under her skin. “Vince, I’m sor -”

“Look, I don’t like it any more than you do,” He snips, clearly in no mood for apologies. "But your hunches don’t secure a warrant, Rizzoli, and unless you want to find yourself in the middle of an IA shitstorm, there’s nothing you can do about that little outburst of his in there. You got the reaction you wanted, and you dodged him - though God only knows how - so, well done! Now you get to watch him walk out of here.”

“I can fix it,” she pleads as she tries to step around him and go back in.

“Nuh-uh,” he mutters, blocks the doorway with his bulky frame. “Actually, I think it’s better if you go back upstairs, Detective.”

“Oh, come on -” she drawls disbelievingly.

Korsak shakes his head. “It’s for your own good, Jane.”

“You’re serious?” she frowns, saddened by his stone-like expression.

She can count on one hand the number of times they’ve clashed like this throughout her career. Korsak the friend dissolves away leaving only Korsak the Sergeant, Korsak the disgruntled superior, in his place. This time hurts just as much as all the others. His final words as sharp as the pain in her chest.

“I said _go_ , Jane. NOW!”

She begins to stride away as Korsak returns to the interview room. Then, as the door snicks closed, she stops and lets loose with a boot to the wall, kicking the cement as hard as she can. “ARGH! _Stupid!_ ”

“Jane?” comes a familiar voice from behind and, _godammit_ , she’d forgotten Maura was even there. Watching her failure from behind the glass.

Her heart is pounding so hard she can feel it throb down her limbs. She’s too worked up for niceties and so she doesn’t turn around. Just sighs and rubs a hand across her forehead. ”Not now, Maura.”

But she can still hear heel clicks bringing the doctor closer.

“Are you okay?”

“NO,” she snaps, because it should be fucking obvious and, _god_ , the last thing she wants is to be an asshole to Maura right now, but every word uttered jacks up her temper and she should never have stopped walking when Korsak told her to go.

One shoulder hits the wall as she sags, weighed down by self-disgust as the footsteps continue. Then there’s a light hand on her back and that soft, soft voice; the one that makes her insides tremble and it’s all just too much for her strained emotions.

“What can I do to help?”

She turns sharply and Maura flinches away. “You can FIND ME THE EVIDENCE TO LOCK THIS GUY UP!”

The doctor takes a few slow steps back and, oh god, Jane never wants to see that look on Maura’s face. That mix of confusion and anger and… pain.

“Right,” Maura whispers, still backing away. Frown deep and eyes glassy and Jane drops her gaze to the floor because it hurts too much to witness what she’s done. To see reflected in _those_ eyes, the mess she has become.

“Oh god,” she breathes to herself, “I didn’t mean -” But it’s too late as she looks up again, watches Maura’s rigid back disappear around the corner down the hall. “Maura, wait!” she calls, a hand outstretched and her voice breaking. “I’m sorry,” she utters to no one but herself.

Dammit.

She sniffs back burgeoning tears and heads quickly for the observation room. Korsak doesn’t need to know she’s there, and she won’t need to ask for details later. Remaining in the loop will mean she can still assist the case, and hopefully fix this mess she’s created.

But there’s no continuation of her interrogation going on and she can’t believe her eyes.

Self-righteous anger heats her skin beneath her shirt as she witnesses Korsak apologize to Charlie on her behalf. And even though the Sergeant follows it with a very stern warning, handing over his card and telling Charlie not to leave town in case they need to speak to him again, she knows it’s not enough.

Until they find Kelsey, it’ll never be enough.

No way is she sitting at her desk twiddling her thumbs while they wait for the evidence she knows is inevitable, given enough time and patience. Sadly, she’s running out of both.

No. Instead, she only returns to her desk to collect her car keys, before heading for the parking garage. It doesn’t take much effort to ignore the voice in her head that says her next move is probably a much bigger mistake.


	21. Chapter 21

Four houses up from Charlie Mills’ home she parks her car at the curb and kills the engine.

 

This is a good distance, she muses, as she tilts the rearview mirror to a new angle and slides down in her seat. It’s about as close as she dare get, but it’s near enough that she’ll spot him easily when he returns.

 

And she’s prepared to wait him out. As long as it takes. Because even if he’s not keeping Kelsey here, she can tail him – all week long if necessary – until she has a solid lead on the little girl’s whereabouts.

 

So, she waits.

 

She tries to be patient, but she’s itchy and restless. Her every thought sends an unsettling surge of adrenaline through her already racing heart.

 

_How will she redeem herself in Korsak’s eyes? How will she prove Frost’s trust isn’t misplaced? How will she fix things with Maura? How, how, HOW?_

 

When she finally caves and checks her watch, her headache is at full strength and she’s been here for what feels like hours.

 

The small amount of traffic passing by has paid her no mind. She’s been entirely incognito and has gone easily undetected. But then a familiar pickup truck approaches from an unexpected direction and pulls to a stop right beside her.

 

Her head falls back heavily against the seat. “Shit!”

 

There’s no point trying to hide her identity as he inches slowly forward. Most people would recognize her from the long dark curls alone. But, as he deliberately brings his open driver’s side window to meet hers, his eyes are locked to her face like crosshairs to a target.

 

“Detective Rizzoli,” he drawls as she stares him down. The way her name slithers from his tongue makes her skin crawl and she wonders how long it would take to petition the court for a name change so she never has to hear it again.

 

“Mr. Mills,” she grinds out. Starts to slide her left hand up her thigh towards the holster on her hip, undetectable micro movements that won’t spook him. With any luck.

 

“I did _wonder_ if I’d see you again,” he says far too brightly, like he’s playing for a crowd that isn’t here, that doesn’t know what a monster he is. “I just didn’t expect it to be this soon, but I suppose given your little… _outburst_ earlier -”

 

“You’ll never be rid of me,” she growls low. Abandoning all pretense, as if there was any to begin with. “Not until you’re behind bars.”

 

Looking off to the distance, he nods to himself as if weighing her threat. But then, he hums a disagreement and she watches him take out his phone and retrieve a business card from his shirt pocket. “See… that’s where you’re wrong,” he states, already dialing a number. With the truck in gear, he tucks the phone between his ear and shoulder and pulls away.

 

She catches his first few words on the wind and it’s enough to send her stomach plummeting into her feet.

 

“Sergeant Korsak? I’d like to file a complaint.”

 

_Oh god._

 

Time seems to stand still as she stares at the retreating truck in the rearview mirror, eyes burning and unblinking with fury. And then her phone is ringing, and she sighs. Rubs at her forehead as she see Korsak’s name on the caller ID.

 

“Rizzoli.”

 

 _“Harassing a suspect?”_ he exclaims. _“Really?!”_

 

“No! I can explain,” she tries. “I didn’t -”

 

But he isn’t having it. _“Don’t bullshit me, Jane. You get your sorry ass back to this precinct NOW, or so help me you’ll be suspended for a MONTH!”_

 

When the call ends abruptly, she throws the phone hard against the passenger door with a yell of utter frustration. There’s a cracking sound and then a thud as it disappears down the side of the seat, but it barely registers.

 

With her eyes still pinned on Charlie’s truck, she starts the engine and watches as he idles for a long time by his house.

 

Is _he_ watching _her_ the way she’s watching him? Probably. Creepy fucker.

 

But then, he finally moves on. Drives straight past the end of his driveway and leaves the area without ever entering his house.

 

She closes her eyes and sighs hard. There’s no telling where he might go and she so badly wants to follow him, but she can’t even manage to do a simple surveillance right anymore. Every move she makes seems to compromise this case more than the last.

 

It’d be so easy to call it quits. To shake her fists at this universe and scream at the sky _enough, you win!_ At least she hasn’t messed up her other life yet.

 

But, actually… knowing she still has a job with an unblemished record in another reality doesn’t feel like much of a consolation. Or even a way out. Because the notion, though fleeting, leaves a bitterness in her mouth that tastes a lot like quitting. And she won’t quit.

 

Not on Kelsey Mills, or Vince Korsak, or Barry Frost. And especially not on Maura Isles.

 

* * *

Back at the precinct, having taken the longest route back, she holes up in the Division One café. Sips miserably at her coffee until it is cold. Only when she can’t stand the numbness in her ass any more, does she climb down from the wooden stool.

 

She’s almost to the doorway when Frankie trudges through in his uniform, shoulders hunched over even more than usual. “Hey, Jane.”

 

“I thought it was your day off?” she says with a frown.

 

“It was,” he sighs. Shoots her a wry smile and tilts his head to the side. “But Sanders AND Clarkson both called in sick.”

 

“Ooh, sucks to be you,” she snorts, the natural impulse to tease her younger sibling still very present no matter her mood. It helps to cover the pang in her chest, too. What she wouldn’t give right now for those simpler, earlier days when _she_ was in uniform.

 

“Uh huh,” he mutters as she pats him on the shoulder and steps away. But then he asks, “Oh, are you going upstairs?” and she turns back quickly.

 

“Yeah. Why?”

 

“I think Frost and Korsak had a fight or something. It didn’t sound good. I’d steer clear if I were you.”

 

“Right,” she nods, as if clueless. Flashes a small smile that she hopes looks genuine before she turns to leave. Ignores the jump in her heartrate as she waves feebly behind. “Thanks for the heads up.”

 

Once inside the elevator, her hand hovers over the button that will take her up to the bullpen. But as the doors snap closed and she tries to swallow the burn of guilt at the back of her throat, she makes a decision that has her fingers pressing a different button altogether.

 

She won’t be a coward. She won’t.

 

* * *

She presents herself timidly, raps her knuckles so quietly it would probably go unnoticed in any other part of this building. But here, the serenity of Maura’s office has the sound echoing off the walls, and she rubs at her fingers as if the sharp pain there isn’t entirely psychosomatic.

 

“Can I talk to you?”

 

“I’m busy,” the doctor snips without looking up. Just continues working behind the desk and Jane nods to herself. This was to be expected, though it doesn’t make it hurt any less. And she does totally deserve it.

 

“Maura, I just want to ap -”

 

“Not now, Detective Rizzoli. As I said, I’m extremely busy.” Maura finally looks up, eyes sharp and expression flat. “We’re overloaded with cases right now. Not all of them _homicides_.”

 

Yep, she nods to herself again. Deserves that, too.

 

It wouldn’t be the first time she’s pushed for lab results. But the line between nuisance and offensive has been crossed. And if any other detective had tried to advance their case by speaking to Maura like that, she’d have had them pinned against the nearest wall like a snarling guard dog on a burglar.

 

The fact that she’s gotten away with far more than most until now shouldn’t mean she gets away with this. She welcomes Maura’s wrath, determined to suck it up like an adult.

 

“I know, that’s why I came to say how _sorry_ I am for how I acted before -”

 

Maura slaps the lid down on her laptop with a heavy sigh. Folds her arms across her chest and raises an eyebrow.

 

If she’s going to get Maura to listen then now is as good a time as any. While the blonde remains quiet and clearly pissed that she’s still here, she strides closer and decides to keep going.

 

“I should never have yelled at you the way I did. It was…” She frowns hard at the memory, feels the pain in the deep crease between her brows. “… _inexcusable_ and I’m ashamed of myself. This case has… torn me up inside for a reason I can’t explain. I haven’t been myself; doing and saying things I shouldn’t, and I – I would never, _ever_ hurt you, Maura, not intentionally and I’m so, so sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise. You’re my best friend and I lov -” She clears her throat. Loses the last two words in a lump of emotion. Says something else instead and okay a small part of her is still yellow bellied. “I thought maybe later I could come over and we -”

 

“I can’t tonight,” Maura states with a haughty sniff, not making eye contact. “I already have plans.”

 

With her stomach twisted into a knot, she blinks away the wetness that has gathered along her lashes. Watches silently as hazel eyes drop to the desk and the blonde’s face becomes aglow once again with the white light of her reopened laptop.

 

She thinks about the date and suddenly remembers the tickets she’d picked up for Jack not that long ago. Almost snaps her fingers as she mutters to herself dejectedly, “Right. The Egyptian jewelry exhibition.”

 

Maura stops and peers at her intently. “‘Jewels of Ancient Nubia’ at the MFA.” Blonde eyebrows twitch upward and then fall. “But, how would you know -?”

 

“You told me,” she blurts, tries to distract the doctor with a half-truth. But by the look on Maura’s face, it might already be too late.

 

Then, as if summoned by fate, her cell phone rings and she snatches it from its holster. It’s Frost. “I have to go,” she rushes, already backing toward the doorway. Stopping only when Maura stands primly behind the desk.

 

“I hope you realize,” Maura begins as she smooths down her skirt, “being spoken to like _that_ is not new to me.” There’s a glimmer of wetness in hazel eyes that belies the straightforward anger in Maura’s tone and the rigidly clenched fists at her sides. “Having hordes of middle-aged white men, who think they can throw around their weight and power, intimidate me and make unreasonable demands until they get what they want _is not new_ to me.”

 

“Maura -” Ignoring the phone but not the pang in her chest, Jane strides forward only to have the doctor wave her off.

 

“But I can _take_ it, Jane. From anyone _else_ , I can take it.” Maura swallows hard, seems to lose the fight with her composure as a tear escapes and her voice breaks. “Because they don’t _mean_ anything to me.”

 

There’s a long pause as Jane bravely holds Maura’s gaze. Stares into the face of painful disappointment that she’d shied away from earlier.

 

“But I _can’t_ take it…” Maura finishes with a small head shake, “… not from _you_.”

 

In a few short strides, she’s around the desk, wrapping Maura up in her arms and burying her face in the sweet smell of honeysuckle shampoo.

 

“I am _so_ sorry,” she murmurs repeatedly, kisses the words into Maura’s hairline and feels the doctor’s arms encircle her more firmly each time.

 

For long moments, she luxuriates in the embrace. Wonders how long they could stay like this as she rubs her free hand up and down Maura’s back. But then the phone comes alive again only a second later, and she curses under her breath as she releases the hug.

 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, conscious of the awkward repetition. Realizes that she hadn’t noticed the phone _stop_ ringing. “I should get that,” she says, noticing Frost’s name on the screen again as Maura steps back. “But before I do, I need to know that we’re still friends, Maura. Can you forgive me?”

 

She watches the blonde drop her gaze to the floor and sweep long bangs behind her ears. There’s just a hint of a smile on beautiful pink lips when their eyes meet again. It’s enough to make her feel exponentially better and she only realizes she’s staring at Maura’s mouth when the blonde speaks again.

 

“You should definitely get that. I sent Susie upstairs with a partial DNA report for the Mills case.”

 

“You did?!” she squeaks as she drags her eyes up. “But how -?”

 

Maura beams, eyes glinting with pride. “Because I have the best team in the state.”

 

“They’re the best team in the _country_ ,” Jane agrees with a nod and a grin. “Because of _you._ ” She pauses enough to let the compliment settle, to see Maura smile and then checks one last time as she backs out of the room, her phone already halfway to her ear, “Are we okay?”

 

Maura nods and the smile widens. And the lightness that generates within Jane’s chest makes her feel like she could float.


	22. Chapter 22

She abandons her impatient wait for the elevator in favor of sprinting up the stairwell.

 

“Did we finally get him?” she pants, as she slows to a stop by Korsak’s desk.

 

Hands on her hips, she sucks air in and rides out the painful stitch in her side with a grimace. That’s what she gets nowadays for not warming up, and for feeling constantly beaten up by her phantom doorway travels.

 

Korsak lowers a manilla folder and his glasses to the desktop. “Charlie Mills’ DNA on Rebecca Mills’ body,” he says. And that’s it. So, Maura wasn’t kidding about the _partial_ part.

 

She spins around to Frost. Sends a beaming smile across his desk. “Well, partner, let’s go pick him up!”

 

But there’s no smile in return as he stands. “Jane -”

 

“He’s being picked up,” Korsak cuts in and she spins around again. “But not by you.”

 

She gawps, disbelieving, as he slips his trusty notepad into his inside pocket. “What?”

 

“I have a team going to pick him up now,”he states. Barks his final order as he leaves. “But you -Stay.”

 

She turns to Frost, eyebrows almost to her hairline, asthe door closes with an emphatic slam behind her. “Are you shittin’ me?!”

 

Frosts sighs, clearly frustrated, and plants his hands on his hips. “I tried, Jane. I argued every reason I could think of why you had to stay on this case, but he wouldn’t _listen_. The old man’s as stubborn as you!”

 

“Well, that’s too bad,” she snips, folds her arms across her chest and cocks her hips. “Because he’s wasting his time.”

 

Frost frowns hard. “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean… Charlie Mills isn’t home.”

 

“Well, whenever he comes back they’ll bring him in -”

 

With the repeated shake of her head, he doesn’t bother to finish. She leans forward, enunciates clearly for emphasis and cannot help the gradual rise in her voice. “He’s not coming back, Frost. He’s. _Gone!_ And unless you can find me his parents’ old address, or some other place he might be hiding, he’s going to skip town with the kid!”

 

“We checked his parents’ address. Already ruled it out.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“It was vacant for a decade -”

 

“So?! He could be -”

 

“And they bulldozed it last month.”

 

She paces. Trudges back and forth in the space between Korsak’s desk and theirs. Pinches the bridge of her nose as she thinks desperately of ways to rescue Kelsey Mills.

 

On her final pass, she points to Frost’s monitor, where the old Mills family farm information is now displayed.  “Are there any other buildings on that plot? Outbuildings, a shed, anything that’s still standing?”

 

As he sits, Frost shakes his head. “Nothing on the plans.”

 

“So they had a house and nothing else… on what used to be a working farm? Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

 

A head tilt is his only concession as he starts tapping keys once more.“I’ll run some checks…”

 

It takes mere minutes, and when he exclaims in excitement,she can’t help but wonder what a formidable team he and Nina would make together.

 

He enlarges an aerial photo on the screen. “There! It’s hard to see because of the tree cover, but that’s definitely a building there.”

 

“Great!” she exclaims, more impatient than pleased as her eyes lock onto his.“Now I have to ask you again; do you trust me?”

 

“Of course,” he snorts, as if it’s the most ridiculous question he’s ever heard. And she almost crosses her fingers behind her back as she continues to fly recklessly by the seat of her pants.

 

“Good,” she chirps with a smile, points an index finger first at his chest then at the exit.“Get your coat. We have a case to close.”

 

* * *

 

They hurry through the foyer. Dodging uniformed officers and civilians alike in their haste to exit.

 

But then Jane stops dead suddenly and Frost bumps into her from behind.

 

“Oof, shit!”

 

“Sorry, sorry,” she rushes as she spins around, palms out. She circles around him and he mirrors, like a clumsy, impromptu waltz among a sea of people. “Do me a favor,” she says, dragging keys from her jacket pocket and tossingthem to him as she backs away toward the Division One café. “Start the car! I’ll be there in _one_ minute.”

 

As Frost disappears out onto the street, she does an about turn and makes a beeline for the head of dark hair and uniform she’d spotted on the way past.

 

“Frankie!” she calls, lifting his eyes from the chocolate ring donut halfway to his lips.

 

“Hi, Jane!” he grins, before taking a bite and mumbling, “How’d it go with Korsak?”

 

“I’m not his favorite person right now, but it’s a long story,” she sighs as she reaches his table. Waves away his curious frown because she doesn’t have time to waste. “Listen, I could really use your help on a case.”

 

His eyebrows lift. “Now?”

 

“Right now,” she nods, as serious and urgent as a heart attack. “Where’s your car?”

 

“Out front,” he says, hustling another big bite and wiping off his fingers.

 

“Great! We’ll need that, too. Come on,” she instructs, leading the way back out to the foyer with long strides as Frankie shuffles behind. “We have a killer to catch!”

 

* * *

 

As they approach the turn towards their suspect’s possible location, she picks up the radio and tells Frankie to kill the lights and sirens on his patrol car.

 

But it’s too late,and they’re taken by surprise.

 

A blinding cloud of dust billows out across the highway, thick and brown from the dried mud of the dirt track ahead.  The piercing squeal of tires and brakes pricks her ears as Frankie and then Frost swerves to miss the vehicle that comes at them through the fog. A wave of gravel pelts the car. A barrage of tiny, lightning fast missiles that sound like machine gun fire against the bodywork.

 

She catches sight of a familiar tailgate just before lights disappear, and curses as Charlie’s pickup truck peals away at high speed.

 

“Don’t lose him!” she barks, radio still in hand, as Frost maneuvers through traffic and Frankie’s lights and sirens come to life again.

 

Frost slams on the accelerator, throws her back in her seat. “I’m on him!”

 

They race neck and neck with Frankie’s patrol car, trying to catch the pickup. Constantly swerving, weaving through traffic, and evading Charlie’s desperate attempts to throw them off his tail as she calls it in and requests immediate backup.

 

When Charlie blasts through an intersection on red, brakes squeal again and they have no choice but to back off. “This is getting dangerous,” Frost growls, and she swallows hard because they’re so close, they can’t quit now.

 

She watches as Frankie guns his car in pursuit, pulls quickly away even as she picks up the radio again. “Keep on him but give him some room -”

 

_“Traffic looks lighter up ahead. We might have a chance to box him in.”_

 

“We don’t need him doing anything stupid…”

 

But they’re already speeding faster than before, Frost tense and double fisting the steering wheel as they try to keep up.

 

 _“I’m gonna move alongside,”_ Frankie’s voice crackles urgently and Frost pushes them onward, gets them closer to Charlie’s tailgate in support.

 

 _“Moving in now,”_ he adds, pushes his car along Charlie’s driver’s side.

 

“Frankie, wait!” Jane yells, instinctively lurches forward in her seat. But he’s already steering toward the pick up as Charlie’s brake lights flash, lighting up her vision like a crimson omen.

 

Frost slams on the brakes, shouts, “Hold on!” and she grips the door handle with white knuckles, but they’re going too fast to _not_ hit the truck and what follows seems to happen in a single heartbeat.

 

The force of the impact sends them veering into the guardrail. The car lurches as it hits metal and the side of her head hits the window as they screech to a breath-stealing halt. Wincing, she watches in horror as Charlie careens away,smashing into the side of Frankie’s patrol car.

 

Both vehicles turn toward the rail a hundred yards ahead, metal crunching and glass breaking under Charlie’s murderous intent. Then they crash… and a desperate squeal escapes her… as the guardrail explodes from the force and a tangle of metal and rubber and screaming sirens disappears off the side of the road.


	23. Chapter 23

She touches her temple and winces sharply. Fingertips come away red as she tries to shake the fuzziness from her vision.

Wiping the blood off on her trouser leg, she notes the light tendrils of smoke escaping from beneath the mangled hood. “We gotta go!” she rushes, already shoving the passenger door open, expecting Barry to do the same.

But he is unresponsive as she turns.

Covered in chunks of glass from his broken window, blood mars the entire left side of his face. A similar wound to hers no doubt, but much - oh god - much worse.

“Frost!” she chokes out, tries to rouse him as the image of a cold, gray headstone assaults her vision and steals her breath.

“Frost! Please…” she sobs, hands trembling as they grasp and plead at his arm, shoulder, cheek. She can’t be responsible for his… she can’t… he can’t be… please god no. “Come on, buddy,” she sniffs, closes her eyes and prays because this isn’t what she’d planned, isn’t what she wanted, this… this… nightmare. “You gotta wake up, pal, you – we have to…”

 _You gotta wake up!_ She screams internally, because the fates doing this to her, making her do this to herself, is too fucking much.

When he groans a second later and lifts his head, she hiccups another sob and whispers to the sky, “Oh, thank god!” But, now that she _hasn’t_ killed her best friend, the relief is quickly smothered by urgency, yet more panic, because they aren’t the only casualties. “Can you move? Can you – we have to get out, Frost, we have to go – Frankie, he…”

“Go,” he groans, waves her off weakly, his face screwed up in pain. “Ungh, go.”

“You’ll be okay,” she assures him. They just need some extra bodies, she thinks. Recalls her request for backup, though she’s yet to hear any sirens approaching, and snatches up the radio. “10-50, 10-50! The suspect hit us and we wrecked! Officer down! Send an ambulance! Suspect is loose and possibly armed. GET ME THOSE UNITS NOW!”

She throws the radio down and leans back to Frost, palms splayed as if to check him over, as if it isn’t pointless, because only someone like Maura, with her medical bag and massive purse kitted out for every eventuality, would have a real chance of taking care of his injuries. “I’m going after him,” she blurts, restless limbs itching to climb out, “stay right here and I’ll -”

Frost grits his teeth, winces. “Just go! Go help Frankie.”

“I’ll be back,” she promises, climbing out and backing away. Keeps her eye on him for as long as possible.

“I’ll catch you up,” he says, tries to wink and draws a smile to her lips. He’s not dead, but she has three more people to worry about, and so she turns and sprints away.

She doesn’t hear any sirens. Not even those of Frankie’s cruiser. And it’s then that two and two suddenly make four and she’s off, through the gap in the railing.

Of all the places to crash, anywhere in Boston it had to be here. _No god no_. She stumbles down the rough terrain of the embankment. Barrels through the torn brush and broken branches as her eyes follow the path of muddy tire marks, all the way to the edge of the reservoir.

And there, just as she feared, she finds Frankie’s car and Charlie’s truck both nose down in the icy water and sinking fast.

She wades in without hesitation. Squeals as the freezing cold water takes her breath away and makes her teeth chatter.

“Frankie!... F-F-Frankie!” she cries as she inches toward his cruiser. Arms above her head, she grits her teeth and growls, fights the frigid water as it climbs up over her chest. The ground falling away fast. “Goddammit. FRANKIE!”

Within moments, she loses her footing, falls under and then breaks the surface with a shriek as the cold shoots pains into her skull. But she doesn’t stop moving, just swims as hard as her water-heavy suit and the infiltrating numbness in her limbs will allow.

She’s not more than ten feet away, fifteen at the most, when Charlie’s truck groans and shifts. It sinks fast, water bubbling up on the inside, air bubbling up on the outside. And she can see Frankie’s darkened form from here, hunched over in his seat, unconscious from the crash no doubt, but a small hand pounding at Charlie’s rapidly disappearing back window and the cries of a young girl halt her progress.

“NO!” she gasps. “Kelsey? KELSEY!”

The hand pounds at the glass as fiercely as it can manage, but it is tiny and helpless and Jane can’t breathe.

Why would the universe do this to her? _She knows why_.

The water level rises inside the truck and the wailing turns to a garbled scream. The sound tears at her lungs, makes her strangled breaths shudder as she watches the scene, wide-eyed and frozen in horror as Frankie’s car sinks, too. But there’s no movement from within, no pounding, no screams. Nothing.

What kind of sick decision is this? _She knows what kind._

This is the price she has to pay. Her debt. Her punishment.

Well, so be it. But it stops here and now.

“I’m coming, Frankie,” she yells. Swims for her life towards Charlie’s truck as the roof becomes submerged. “Just hold on please, hold on!”

Grabbing at the truck’s rear door handle, she pulls with all her strength but it doesn’t budge. Even when she sucks in a deep breath and ducks below the surface, plants her feet on the bodywork and pushes with her legs as she yanks, once, twice. Nothing moves.

Deep grooves and rough scratches mar the driver’s side all the way to the truck bed. The metal is pierced in several places - mangled and sharp from what she can make out through her blurred vision in the murky water – and the door is jammed.

Rising for a desperate breath, she pants, spits in fury and growls at the heavens.

Then, after another deep inhale, she dives again. Swims down far enough to press her face up against the rear window so she can check the position of the little body still strapped in the back seat. Placement confirmed, she quickly pulls her weapon, braces her feet against the bodywork again, and fires off five shots in quick succession, trying to break out as much glass as she can as the bullets scream away from her in a flash. She takes care of any remaining glass with the butt of her gun, or a fist where necessary, until there is enough room for her to reach the whole of her upper body inside.

She drags the girl free, limp and lifeless up to the surface. Swims them both as hard as she can toward the edge.

Water gurgles behind her and she turns her head just enough to witness Frankie’s cruiser disappear.

“No, no,” she cries, low and broken. She can’t let go of Kelsey now, drags them both onto the muddy embankment, scrambles desperately until they are both out of the water, one hand still clutching her gun, the other under Kelsey’s arms, until she can lay the little girl out and breathe life back into her.

“Come on, Kelsey,” she begs under her breath as she runs her hands over a small pale body. Thinks _hold on, Frankie, just hold on_ as something rustles the bushes up ahead.

“Jane!” Frost yells, braces himself against a think branch, clearly banged up and suffering but rushing to her side regardless.

And she would cry, would fall to her knees with relief if she weren’t there already. But just points to the water and screams, “FROST, GET FRANKIE! The car, he’s – still inside – get him, get him, just -” But the cold is hindering her brain and she can’t say what she wants to fast enough even though Frost is following her flailing, desperate directions, already diving in. “SHOOT THE GLASS, FROST, GET HIM OUT!”

Her partner vanishes beneath the surface and she looks down, tries to blow some heat into frozen hands that burn red and gingerly starts CPR. Miraculously, with one cycle of sharp pumps to Kelsey’s chest and one puff of air the child coughs, water erupting from between blue lips.

Another ragged sob escapes her as her head falls forward. _Oh god, thank you_ she prays, eyes screwed tight as she pants. With shaky hands, she scoops the girl up to her chest, twists and drops to her butt in time to see Frost break the surface with a gasping Frankie in tow.

Nothing can stop the tears that stream down her face as she hugs the now whimpering child to her body. “Shhh. You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you. You’re okay.” She watches as Frost hooks Frankie’s arm behind his neck, helps haul them both out of the water. “Everybody’s okay,” she whispers, swallowing thickly as the mental image of row after row of headstones evaporates.

“Well that… didn’t go… to plan,” Frankie splutters as he stumbles up beside her and falls heavily to the ground.

The quip makes Frost laugh, which makes him cough and she thinks maybe he swallowed some of that water, too. But then, as she hears sirens finally approaching, she notices the arm he’s holding across his abdomen and she frowns hard.

Beneath a wave of guilt, she realizes Frost has probably broken some ribs in the crash. Broken some ribs and then dived in to a freezing cold reservoir to rescue _her_ brother!

Frost chuckles weakly, “No, it didn’t.”

But they have no true idea. And they’re both far better people than she deserves.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks in italics.

Standing in front of the doorway, she obsesses over her second pass at the Mills case and every way it went wrong…

\---

_She watches as the fire crew quickly smother her blazing car, a steaming, smoking shell, grey and ashen by the side of the road. Thinks about how she left Frost sitting inside, how he could have died right there._

_Someone jokes about her paying to replace it, about having money taken from her paycheck every month to cover a new vehicle, but she’s doesn’t have it in her to laugh. Can barely manage an unimpressed grimace as she mutters, “Ha ha. Jackass.” Because what has happened is bad, but her mind’s eye is filled with how it could have been so much worse._

_She refuses treatment from the paramedic, but lurks beside the ambulance as they check over Frost and Frankie. Tells them Frost is lying when he insists he doesn’t need a trip to the hospital, tells them he needs x-rays and other tests for the injuries hidden beneath his clothes and she can see in his face that he’s already plotting revenge._

_He glowers but she ignores it. Makes Frankie go in the ambulance with him for good measure, and then they both hate her. It’s worth it to know they’re both going to be okay._

_She watches forlornly as the doors to another ambulance are slammed shut. As it drives away carrying a little girl and a CPS worker. Crosses her fingers and hopes that Kelsey has a grandparent willing to open their heart and their home to her, in this life as it was in the other, but knows that crossing her fingers does nothing to repair the damage she’s caused._

\---

She paces. Wonders if things would have gone pear-shaped even without her ill-chosen interference. After all, some cases are just plain difficult and occasionally no one gets the outcome they want, even when they do everything right.

But it’s no use. There’s no avoiding the fact that this almost-disaster was a result of _her_ decisions alone.

She caused this. It’s her fault. Knows it for a fact, like the sky is blue or grass is green. Doesn't waste a single second on any other theory, just cuts through the shock straight to disgust and self-loathing and oh my god, what on earth has she done?!

\---

_She watches as the tow truck drags both vehicles out of the reservoir, creaking and groaning, water spilling out. Gets her first look at the massive piece of metal, part of the roadside barrier that had pierced through Frankie’s patrol car. Can’t breathe when she sees how close its sharp and jagged end came to the driver’s seat and has to sit down._

_She stares with morbid fascination as Charlie’s truck door is levered open, his pale corpse removed and zipped into a body bag. It’s not hard to imagine how many more bags could have been filled today._

_Maura catches her eye as the team stows him away in the back of the Medical Examiner’s transport, but she turns away. Haunted by a dozen different endings and drowning in guilt._

_She can’t look anymore. Just had to make sure he was gone. That it is over._

\---

She pushed Charlie too far. Pushed and threatened and the second they let him go he knew they were onto him. That there would be no escape.

There were no cards kept to her chest that day. No hedging her bets or waiting for results to back up her suspicions. Not like the first time. She showed every hand she had, laid it all out before him on the interview room table.

Impatient and stupid.

_\---_

_Someone wraps her in a blanket and bundles her into the back of Korsak’s car._

_When he climbs into the driver’s seat, huffing and grumbling, she hands him her badge and gun without protest. Nods silently and tearfully as she’s given the reprimand of her life._

_He talks about an internal investigation; about how the statements of Frankie and Frost support the preliminary theory that they were the victims of an attacker so desperate to escape, he caused his own demise and barely missed taking three officers with him but the words fade in and out like she’s not fully inside her own body any more._

_He tells her she’ll likely be in Evidence Management for some time once she gets her badge back, as punishment for disobeying direct orders, but that, in the end, the outcome isn’t so bad and it’ll just be a blip on her otherwise impressive record._

_”You did good, Jane,” he says, as heels on asphalt approach and he winds down his window._

_“Thanks,” she replies, though the word catches in her throat, strangled, and she coughs. Doesn’t want to cry again._

_Maura leans in to the Sergeant from outside the window, gestures to the empty seat behind him. “May I?”_

_“Sure, Doc,” he says and climbs quickly out as Maura slides in beside Jane._

_“I have a couple of butterfly stitches here,” she explains matter-of-factly, producing several items out of a small first aid pack in her lap, “which I can apply to that cut and save you a trip to the emergency room.”_

_Jane holds her gaze for a long moment, sees the determination in Maura’s face, and feels her frozen insides melt just a little._

_“Will you let me clean you up?” Maura asks, brusque, as if dealing with a prickly stranger and not her best friend. But, then she adds, “Please?” and it is softer, pleading, the façade breaking, as if she can no more pretend to be unaffected by seeing Jane injured than Jane can pretend she doesn’t want to be close to this woman, to be taken care of by this wonderful woman._

_She nods her assent, watches all the while as Maura prepares cotton wool with antiseptic and then begins to clean her wound. Watches, even as her vision blurs with tears, from the sting, from the pain of knowing she doesn’t deserve this kind of care, but can’t tear her eyes away._

_“You did g -” Maura tries, but a sharp inhale from Jane cuts her off._

_“Don’t… Maura,” she whispers, hand latching instinctively around Maura’s wrist, stilling her movements. She screws her eyes closed and the built up tears run down her face. “Don’t say good. None of this is good. I’ve made so – so many mistakes -”_

_“Jane,” Maura breathes, her fingers coming to stroke gently at a wet cheek._

_“But I’m going to fix it,” she says, clears her throat and pulls herself together. Gives Maura a short, sharp nod. “I promise.”_

_“I believe you,” Maura says softly with a tiny smile and the numbness inside Jane recedes until she forgets herself._

_“I lo -” she starts without thinking, but catches it inside another cough. She can’t say those words in this life, not yet anyway. If ever._

_“I have to go,” she says instead, once Maura is done placing the sterile strips on her temple. Shucking her blanket, she climbs out of the car and quickly strides away._

_\---_

One more bad move and she’d have been unemployed, estranged from her best friend, grieving her partner, her brother, and an innocent little girl who got caught in her selfishly blinkered crosshairs.

Things couldn’t have gone much worse. And the whole debacle makes her want to climb the nearest fire escape all the way to the roof and jump.

That would be one way to escape. This is another.

The light that emanates from the doorway is dim now. It flickers almost completely out every ten seconds or so, makes her heart skip a beat each time, before it bursts back to life. Like a lightbulb surging just before it dies. And it _will_ die, she concludes, whatever _it_ is.

Sooner or later, she’ll have to make a decision about where to remain. And she swears she’ll think about it even as she fights with all her strength to push her body through the dying doorway, to get to the comfort she craves, to get to her alternate life. To her Maura.

Just one more time, she bargains. Just once, and then she’ll put a stop to it.


	25. Chapter 25

Maura’s fingers sift soothingly through her hair as she lies on the couch, her head in Maura’s lap. The television is on low, but she couldn’t care less as her eyes hold Maura’s warm, smiling gaze.

This is what she’d needed. Not fucking or making love. Just this; the tingling warmth that every pass of Maura’s fingertips sends down her spine. Just being in each other’s space. That feeling of safety. That all is right with the world, if only for a moment.

She wonders, not for the first time, how she came to deserve this second version of her life. _It can’t be a reward, surely. Or a punishment. A bit of both?_ Certainly, any silver linings have become deathly overshadowed by a dark gray cloud, but they still exist.

A stray thought escapes and she murmurs, “Do you believe in miracles?”

Embarrassment heats her face as Maura’s eyebrows contract and she breaks eye contact to glance at fingers that begin to fidget. Because she hears how it sounds, like a question of faith - a faith to which she doesn’t herself much prescribe - and so she wonders how odd it must sound to a woman made purely of science.

There’s a long pause, then, with one elbow planted on the arm of the couch, Maura’s head tilts a little more against the hand that props it up.

“Yes and no,” she says slowly with a smile. Her tone is as gentle as the fingers that still play lovingly in Jane’s hair. “I believe almost everything has a scientific explanation if we _look_ hard enough. But I also know, sometimes, no matter _how_ hard we try, the answers will elude us. It doesn’t mean they’re not _there_ , just that the science and our understanding of it perhaps doesn’t yet exist. Unknowns can be difficult to live with. You and I _both_ know that. So, if the idea of a miracle, being able to explain the unexplainable, makes a person feel better, then… who am I to argue with that?”

It’s an answer that takes her breath away. It’s so… perfect, and so perfectly Maura. What was she expecting exactly? She’s not sure, but, she supposes, she should always expect this woman to keep on surprising her. To say precisely the right thing when she needs it most.

“What’s wrong?” Maura asks, jolts Jane back from where she’s still frowning down at her hands.

She picks lightly at a fingernail. “I just - I keep thinking about Kelsey Mills. That case really got under my skin.”

“You saved her, Jane,” Maura praises, leans down and kisses the words onto her forehead. “And it was _weeks_ ago,” she adds, sits back up. “Not a lot of cases bother you for this long. Is everything okay?”

“It feels like yesterday,” she mutters to herself, because it _was,_ to her, but this Maura doesn’t know that. “And what if I hadn’t, saved her, I mean? I can’t help but think about all the things that could have gone wrong. What I might have been responsible for if things hadn’t gone my way. I’ve cut corners, Maura, put too many people at risk and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive myself.”

She feels Maura shift a little, feels the hand in her hair still, and shifts her eyes upward to find Maura looking away in contemplation.

“I think,” the doctor begins, tilts her head again as she apparently tries to follow Jane’s broken thoughts. “Miracles shouldn’t ever be a factor in how you – _we_ \- solve our cases. We follow a proven process. We do our jobs. Sometimes we get lucky and sometimes we don’t. We take risks, yes, but calculated ones, risks based on evidence and professional instinct. The entire team takes those same risks with you, willingly, on each and every case, and if there’s something you wish you’d done differently, all you can do is learn from it.” Maura shrugs gently, smiles as she turns her face back down to meet Jane’s eyes once more. “Do it differently next time.”

Jane sighs, lets the words settle in her chest. _Do it differently next time_. They are heavier than she knows Maura intended, were supposed to be encouraging and uplifting, but cause a pain not unlike grief all the same.

She grieves for the girl saved twice, rescued from death but orphaned each time. She grieves for her almost-brother who is lost and found to her all at once. For the relationship she craves, which means everything in the whole world, but isn’t real. Only an imitation.

She has taken advantage of a shortcut to happiness and found it much too costly. Cheated the system and paid the fine.

She was always taught to work hard for what she wanted. Good morals; the one thing for which she’s grateful to her wayward father, despite his less than shining example later on in life.

“And there’ll be no cutting corners,” Maura chides, grins as she pokes Jane in the ribs. “Not on my watch!”

“Never again,” she says, means it with every fiber of her being.

“Good girl,” Maura smirks, leans down to kiss her again. Catches her lips instead of her forehead this time and Jane’s mind is granted a short reprieve, lets Maura’s lips block out everything in the world except for the two of them in this moment.

She lifts a hand and cups the back of Maura’s head, just closes her eyes as she sinks into the feeling of Maura’s mouth and tongue as the kiss deepens.

“Bed?” Maura asks when they part, her voice low and eyes dark.

She nods. Leans up and allows Maura to stand. Lets herself be led by the hand all the way to the bedroom. Holds on like it’s the last time.

\---

They don’t have sex.

She wants to and, then… she doesn’t, she can’t. Can’t do it under these circumstances, can’t continue to use Maura like that. Instead, she makes excuses about why she - why _they_ shouldn’t, not tonight.

It’s another lie, to add to the one she used to explain away her injuries. Again. To add to the small ones about the case, about how recent it was, to the ones where she has assured Maura there is nothing wrong. Adds more and more to the pile. A mountain of dishonesty.

Maura provides comfort and reassurance, holds her tight in bed until slumber arrives to slacken her embrace. She tries not to squirm with self-loathing, tries to block out what Maura, the real Maura, would think of her actions, of her weakness, if she knew.

Thoughts swirling, she lies awake in the dark, guts twisted with shame and guilt as this Maura sleeps beside her. It makes her sick to realize that, despite being initially hurt and deeply disappointed, the real Maura would forgive her far sooner than she would ever forgive herself.

No one should lie to the person they love, nor should they run from their deserved punishment, like a coward, but she had done that, too. Headed straight for the doorway as soon as her nightmare day on the Mills case was over. She’d let everyone down, and fled the instant the coast was clear.

What is she doing here? Apart from utter, utter selfishness. Frost is gone and she’s estranged from her own mother. Yes, Frankie might be a detective here, but she can go home and work hard to help him change that. Frankie can retake a test, but she can’t bring Frost back. And Maura… well, Maura is a rare patch of light in this life, in both lives.

She knows she can’t stay, can’t keep lying to everyone, to herself. Can’t deny what she’s done any more than she can ignore the puckered bullet scar on her abdomen or the white marks on her hands; her mistakes, her _choices_ , will stay with her forever. A brand on her conscience.

But she can make different choices. Can choose to be stronger, smarter. Can admit she was a fool for ever thinking this was a good idea in the first place, starting now, as she makes a quick and resolute decision; She’ll accept her penance and make it right. She’ll give 100% to all of her cases, no more shortcuts, no more life or death mistakes. She’ll go home and never come back, give up her Maura to the one who is happy with Jack.

It’s time to say goodbye.


	26. Chapter 26

“I love you,” she murmurs into the dark.

It’s just above a whisper. Loud enough for the gravelly words to reach her own ears, pricking her eardrums like needles. Painful proof that she’s said them, sharp evidence of exactly what they mean.

Feelings freely given voice, perhaps for the last time.

As Jane sits up, Maura rolls toward her, an arm flopping down onto the empty mattress below her pillow. Her absence alone seems to make the blonde stir and that fact produces an ache below her left breast as she rises.

“Hnnnhh. Wha’s wrong?” Maura croaks, barely awake, “Did we get a call?”

She leans back over the side of the bed, plants a gentle kiss into Maura’s messy hair, tries to swallow down the lump of emotion in her throat but her voice breaks anyway. “No. But I have to go.”

Whatever invisible thread exists between their hearts threatens to snap as she moves away again.

Maura rolls further, burrows her face into Jane’s empty covers and inhales deeply. “How long will you be gone?” the doctor asks, voice faraway as if in a dream, pitiful and needy like Jane has never heard before.

She doesn’t have an answer, just bites the inside of her cheek as her eyes fill with tears, removes clean underwear from a drawer and quickly pulls them on.

“Jane?” comes Maura’s voice again, more awake now.

_Shit._

“Jane,” the blonde repeats in a whisper so broken she thinks it must surely have fractured her heart inside her chest. “What’s going on?”

The covers pool around Maura’s waist as she sits up. Moonbeams that break through the gap in the curtains highlight every luscious curve of her naked form in stark contrast to the shadows in which Jane hides.

She keeps her head down, primarily to avoid distraction from her goal, but it’s also hung in shame. Doing this doesn’t feel remotely good. “I can’t stay here. I’m sorry,” she mumbles, picks up and throws on the rest of her clothes.

“Where are you going?!” Maura asks, layers of outrage, disbelief, and heartbreak barely covered by sniffles as Jane collects the last of her things.

She needs to respond, has to think of something - _anything_ \- to say to end the awkward silence. But she can’t bring herself to slink out under a blanket of lies. Even white ones with good intentions. Untruths designed to save Maura from this pain, to drag both their souls into the light from the darkened pit of despair that she’s currently creating.

It reminds her of a time before all this started, of the simplicity of her original life. Reminds her of how good and innocent Maura is and always has been. Reminds her of how, even back then, she was brave in many ways except when it came to speaking her truth.

.

.

_“Do you love her?” Paddy asked, peering intently at the cuffs and chains that anchored him to the floor beneath his metal chair._

_“She’s my friend,” she snarled, leaving the room without a second glance, without giving an answer._

_._

_._

_“Just tell her how you feel,” Angela pushed, testing her resolve from the other side of the breakfast bar._

_“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she grumbled, shoving away half-eaten pancakes and disappearing into the bathroom._

_._

_._

_“Come home with me,” Maura purred, cheeks pink with warmth and alcohol. A sensual sounding offer that was no doubt just the booze talking._

_“I want to be alone,” she lied, felt her heart implode as she slammed closed the door of the taxicab and sent her friend off into the night._

_._

_._

So many lies.

And she can’t do it anymore. Not this time. This time Maura gets the truth, deserves it after everything she’s done for her, after everything Maura’s _been_ for her.

So, she looks over and offers simply, “I’m going home.”

Maura’s gasp physically hurts. “B-but, this -”she stammers, eyes wide with a hurt so fierce Jane has to look away. “ _This_ is your home – Don’t do this, Jane. Please. Whatever it is… we can work it out -”

“God, I love you,” she blurts with a sigh, unable to stop herself. How could she not adore this woman? A woman who still tries, who wants to fix things, who clings to their relationship even as it’s being callously ripped from her in the middle of the night.

“I love you so much, Maura. You know that, right?” She frowns hard into the darkness, brow deeply furrowed.

She sees her words hit their desired mark. Watches Maura press hands over her heart and tilt her head as she hiccups a single word through her tears. “Jane…”

“I will _always_ love you,” she insists, silent tears tracking down her own face, knowing how crazy it makes her sound and how it can only further compound Maura’s confusion. “Even if you don’t ever love me back.” It is the only absolute in her entire existence, and it was true in her other life, long before today.

Maura shakes her head. “I don’t understand what’s happening. Please, darling,” she pleads, “Just talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. If you tell me, maybe -”

“I wish I could explain everything,” Jane sighs again, moving into the open doorway.

Maura shuffles across the bed, tries to get closer whilst keeping her modesty by clutching a handful of sheets. “You can! Of course you can.”

“I can’t, Maura,” she chokes as she retreats, becomes nothing more than a dark, weeping hulk hidden in the shadows.

“Why not?”

Jane snorts humorlessly as she turns to leave. Takes one last look back at the speck of happiness she’s choosing to sacrifice as Maura scrambles to her feet and snatches up her discarded robe. “Because you would never believe me,” she says.

As she runs out of the house in tears, Maura’s desperate calls float behind her. “Wait, Jane. Don’t go!”

And as the door closes, she feels the thread break.

* * *

The darkness of the alley weighs on her like a shroud. The atmosphere dangerous, ominous. It makes her nerve endings tingle, but she’s been here often enough to not let that stop her.

The light of the doorway flickers out and she chews at her thumbnail as she shuffles her feet. Thinks she should have worn a tread pattern in front of this doorway by now, the amount of times she’s paced back and forth over the past few months.

She could change her mind, turn around and head back to Maura, could make a go of it here despite the drawbacks. Thinks she could do it easily, just climb in her car and drive away. Knows she would never forgive herself for stealing a future and a relationship that belongs to someone else.

This Maura shares her life with another Jane and, as the light flickers back into dim life, she knows she has to trust in her alternate self to do the right thing, to make Maura happy. Because _she_ is doing the right thing. She’s going home, while she still has chance.

But the first push of her hand finds a very solid piece of metal that doesn’t give at all. Her chest tightens as she tries again, but several more pushes achieve nothing and suddenly she’s desperate, breaths short and watery eyed.

 _No, no, no._ It needs to work. She needs it to work!

But the light gives out again and she kicks the door as hard as she can manage, sends a deep clang echoing out into the night. “NO! No!”

She pounds her fists against the door as her forehead comes to rest against it, her heart weary as the fight seeps out of her.

“Please,” she pleads, the word broken into pieces by a tremulous exhale. “I have to go back. I have to – please…”

But it seems she’s too late.

She stomps across the cobblestone toward the brick wall opposite, grumbles under her breath at her own stupidity. Kicks the corner of an overflowing industrial trashcan and watches as an open bag spills some of its contents. Hears several rats scurry away somewhere out of sight as a bunch of empty soda cans hit the floor.

There was a time the sound of scurrying rats would have made her skin crawl, but not now. A true mark of how ridiculous her existence has become.

Turning back around, she kicks a soda can across the alley. She stares at her feet and rubs at her forehead, lets out a humorless chuckle because she knows being stranded here wouldn’t really be the end of the world. But it’s not her choice to stay, and that thought just reinforces her earlier decision.

She raises her eyes back to the doorway with a resigned huff, finds her next breath strangled, and the expected darkness replaced by light.

“Oh,” she breathes out. Maybe, just maybe…

With long determined strides she marches back to the doorway, finds herself able to push beyond the surface on the first try and cannot stop the giddy laugh that erupts from her throat. She can feel it resisting, gets pushed back a couple of times but persists, edges through with her shoulder and one final shove using all her strength…

It takes her all at once, spits her out on the other side like a bad penny in a slot machine. She falls flat on her face in the dark, lands with a thud onto wet cobblestones for the first time in forever, wrong-footed by the surge.

“Oof!”

As she rolls onto her back, raising her head to view the door, the light that carried her sparks, once, twice, then dies with a bang.

Relieved and a little shaken, she lets her head fall back down. This will hurt tomorrow, but for now she’s home. And she wasn’t too late after all.


End file.
